DAVIS 


TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-ROOM, 


AND 


WHAT  I  SAW  THERE. 


BY 


T.     S.    ARTHUR, 

AUTHOR   OF  "THB  BAR-ROOMS  AT  BRANTLEY,"   "ORANGE  BLOSSOMS," 
ETC.,    ETC.,    ETC. 


PHILADELPHIA: 
PORTER    &    COATES 


f-rta 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1854,  by 
T.   S.   ARTHUR, 

in  th*  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the 
Eastern  District  of  Pennsylvania. 


Re-issued  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  and  entered  according  to  Act 
of  Congress  in  the  year  1882,  by 

T.  S.   ARTHUR, 
in  the  office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


CONTENTS. 


.  NIGHT  THE   FIRST. 

The  "  Sickle  and  Sheaf 7 

NIGHT  THE   SECOND. 

The  Changes  of  a  Year 52 

NIGHT  THE   THIRD. 

Joe  Morgan  s  Child 87 

NIGHT  THE   FOURTH. 

Death  of  Little  Mary  Morgan  .        .        .         .122 

NIGHT  THE  FIFTH. 

Some  of  the  Consequences  of  Tavern-Keeping    .     1 54 

NIGHT  THE   SIXTH. 

More  Consequences 197 


Vi  CONTENTS. 

NIGHT   THE   SEVENTH. 

Sowing  the  Wind      .         -.  .-...'•.     .         .         .     224 


PAGE 


NIGHT  THE   EIGHTH. 

Reaping  the  Whirlwind     .         ,         .         .         .     292 

NIGHT  THE   NINTH. 

A  Fearful  Consummation .        *         .         .         .     325 

NIGHT   THE   TENTH. 

The  Closing  Scene  at  the  "  Sickle  and  Sheaf"    .     345 


TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-ROOM. 


NIGHT    THE    FIRST. 


THE  "SICKLE  AND  SHEAF." 


years  ago,  business  required  me  to 
pass  a  day  in  Cedarville.  It  was  late 
in  the  afternoon  when  the  stage  set  me  down 
at  the  "  Sickle  and  Sheaf,"  a  new  tavern,  just 
opened  by  a  new  landlord,  in  a  new  house, 
built  with  the  special  end  of  providing  "ac 
commodations  for  man  and  beast."  As  I 
stepped  from  the  dusty  old  vehicle  in  which 
I  had  been  jolted  along  a  rough  road  for  some 
thirty  miles,  feeling  tired  and  hungry,  the 
good-natured  face  of  Simon  Slade,  the  land 
lord,  beaming  as  it  did  with  a  hearty  welcome, 
was  really  a  pleasant  sight  to  see,  and  the  grasp 
of  his  hand  was  like  that  of  a  true  friend. 
I  felt,  as  I  entered  the  new  and  neatly  fur- 


8  TEN   NIGHTS   IN    A   BAR-ROOM. 

nished  sitting-room  adjoining  the  bar,  that  I 
had  indeed  found  a  comfortable  resting-place 
after  my  wearisome  journey. 

"All  as  nice  as  a  new  pin,"  said  I,  approv 
ingly,  as  I  glanced  around  the  room,  up  to  the 
ceiling — white  as  the  driven  snow — and  over 
the  handsomely  carpeted  floor.  "  Haven't  seen 
any  thing  so  inviting  as  this.  How  long  have 
you  been  open  ? " 

"  Only  a  few  months,"  answered  the  gratified 
landlord.  "But  we  are  not  yet  in  good  going 
order.  It  takes  time,  you  know,  to  bring  every 
thing  into  the  right  shape.  Have  you  dined  yet  ? " 

"  No.  Every  thing  looked  so  dirty  at  the  stage- 
house,  where  we  stopped  to  get  dinner,  that  I 
couldn't  venture  upon  the  experiment  of  eating. 
How  long  before  your  supper  will  be  ready  ? " 

"  In  an  hour,"  replied  the  landlord. 

"  That  will  do.  Let  me  have  a  nice  piece  of 
tender  steak,  and  the  loss  of  dinner  will  soon 
be  forgotten." 

"  You  shall  have  that,  cooked  fit  for  an  alder- 


NIGHT   THE   FIRST.  9 

man,"  said  the  landlord.     "  I  call  my  wife  the 
best  cook  in  Cedarville." 

As  he  spoke,  a  neatly  dressed  girl,  about  six 
teen  years  of  age,  with  rather  an  attractive 
countenance,  passed  through  the  room. 

"My  daughter,"  said  the  landlord,  as  she 
vanished  through  the  door.  There  was  a 
sparkle  of  pride  in  the  father's  eyes,  and  a  cer 
tain  tenderness  in  the  tones  of  his  voice,  as  he 
said  "  My  daughter "  that  told  me  she  was 
very  dear  to  him. 

"You  are  a  happy  man  to  have  so  fair  a 
child,"  said  I,  speaking  more  in  compliment 
than  with  a  careful  choice  of  words. 

"  I  am  a  happy  man,"  was  the  landlord's  smil 
ing  answer;  his  fair,  round  face,  unwrinkled  by 
a  line  of  care  or  trouble,  beaming  with  self -satis 
faction.  "I  have  always  been  a  happy  man, 
and  always  expect  to  be.  Simon  Slade  takes 
the  world  as  it  comes,  and  takes  it  easy.  My 
son,  sir,"  he  added,  as  a  boy,  in  his  twelfth  year, 
came  in.  "  Speak  to  the  gentleman." 


10  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

The  boy  lifted  to  mine  a  pair  of  deep  blue 
eyes,  from  which  innocence  beamed,  as  he 
offered  me  his  hand,  and  said,  respectfully— 
"How  do  you  do,  sir?"  I  could  not  but 
remark  the  girl-like  beauty  of  his  face,  in  which 
the  hardier  firmness  of  the  boy's  character  was 
already  visible. 

"  What  is  your  name  ? "  I  asked. 

"Frank,  sir." 

"  Frank  is  his  name,"  said  the  landlord — "  we 
called  him  after  his  uncle.  Frank  and  Flora— 
the  names  sound  pleasant  to  our  ears.  But, 
you  know,  parents  are  apt  to  be  a  little  partial 
and  over  fond." 

"Better  that  extreme  than  its  opposite,"  I 
remarked. 

"Just  what  I  always  say.     Frank,  my  son," 
—the  landlord  spoke  to  the  boy — "  there's  some 
one  in  the  bar.     You  can  wait  on  him  as  well 
as  I  can." 

The  lad  glided  from  the  room,  in  ready 
obedience. 


NIGHT   THE   FIRST.  11 

"A  handy  boy  that,  sir;  a  very  handy  boy. 
Almost  as  good  in  the  bar  as  a  man.  He  mixes 
a  toddy  or  a  punch  just  as  well  as  I  can." 

"But,"  I  suggested,  "are  you  not  a  little 
afraid  of  placing  one  so  young  in  the  way  of 
temptation." 

"  Temptation  ! "  The  open  brows  of  Simon 
Slade  contracted  a  little.  "No,  sir!"  he  re 
plied,  emphatically.  "The  till  is  safer  under 
his  care  than  it  would  be  in  that  of  one  man  in 
ten.  The  boy  comes,  sir,  of  honest  parents. 
Simon  Slade  never  wronged  anybody  out  of 
a  farthing." 

"  Oh,"  said  I,  quickly,  "  you  altogether  misap 
prehend  me.  I  had  no  reference  to  the  till,  but 
to  the  bottle." 

The  landlord's  brows  were  instantly  unbent, 
and  a  broad  smile  circled  over  his  good-humored 
face. 

"  Is  that  all  ?  Nothing  to  fear,  I  can  assure 
you.  Frank  has  no  taste  for  liquor,  and  might 
pour  it  out  for  months  without  a  drop  finding 


12  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-KOOM. 

its  way  to  his  lips.  Nothing  to  apprehend 
there,  sir — nothing." 

I  saw  that  further  suggestions  of  danger 
would  be  useless,  and  so  remained  silent.  The 
arrival  of  a  traveler  called  away  the  landlord, 
and  I  was  left  alone  for  observation  and  reflec 
tion.  The  bar  adjoined  the  neat  sitting-room, 
and  I  could  see,  through  the  open  door,  the 
customer  upon  whom  the  lad  was  attending. 
He  was  a  well-dressed  young  man — or  rather 
boy,  for  he  did  not  appear  to  be  over  nineteen 
years  of  age — with  a  fine,  intelligent  face,  that 
was  already  slightly  marred  by  sensual  indul 
gence.  He  raised  the  glass  to  his  lips,  with  a 
quick,  almost  eager  motion,  and  drained  it  at  a 
single  draught. 

"Just  right,"  said  he,  tossing  a  sixpence  to 
the  young  bar-tender.  "  You  are  first-rate  at  a 
brandy -toddy.  Never  drank  a  better  in  my 
life." 

The  lad's  smiling  face  told  that  he  was 
gratified  by  the  compliment.  To  me  the  sight 


NIGHT   THE   FIRST.  13 

was  painful,  for  I  saw  that  this  youthful  tip 
pler  was  on  dangerous  ground. 

"  Who  is  that  young  man  in  the  bar  ? "  I 
asked,  a  few  minutes  afterward,  on  being  re 
joined  by  the  landlord. 

Simon  Slade  stepped  to  the  door  and  looked 
into  the  bar  for  a  moment. 

Two  or  three  men  were  there  by  this  time; 
but  he  was  at  no  loss  in  answering  my  ques 
tion. 

"  Oh,  that's  a  son  of  Judge  Hammond,  who 
lives  in  the  large  brick  house  just  as  you  enter 
the  village.  Willy  Hammond,  as  everybody 
familiarly  calls  him,  is  about  the  finest  young 
man  in  our  neighborhood.  There  is  nothing 
proud  or  put-on  about  him — nothing — even  if 
his  father  is  a  judge,  and  rich  into  the  bargain. 
Every  one,  gentle  or  simple,  likes  Willy  Ham 
mond.  And  then  he  is  such  good  company. 
Always  so  cheerful,  and  always  with  a  pleasant 
story  on  his  tongue.  And  he's  so  high-spirited 
withal,  and  so  honorable.  Willy  Hammond 


14  TEN   NIGHTS    IN    A   BAK-ROOM. 

would  lose  his  right  hand  rather  than  be  guilty 
of  a  mean  action." 

"  Landlord  ! "  The  voice  came  loud  from  the 
road  in  front  of  the  house,  and  Simon  Slade 
again  left  me  to  answer  the  demands  of  some 
new-comer.  I  went  into  the  bar-room,  in  order 
to  take  a  closer  observation  of  Willy  Ham 
mond,  in  whom  an  interest,  not  unmingled  with 
concern,  had  already  been  awakened  in  my 
mind.  I  found  him  engaged  in  a  pleasant  con 
versation  with  a  plain-looking  farmer,  whose 
homely,  terse,  common  sense  was  quite  as  con 
spicuous  as  his  fine  play  of  words  and  lively 
fancy.  The  farmer  was  a  substantial  conserva 
tive,  and  young  Hammond  a  warm  admirer  of 
new  ideas  and  the  quicker  adaptation  of  means 
to  ends.  I  soon  saw  that  his  mental  powers 
were  developed  beyond  his  years,  while  his 
personal  qualities  were  strongly  attractive.  I 
understood  better,  after  being  a  silent  listener 
and  observer  for  ten  minutes,  why  the  land 
lord  had  spoken  of  him  so  warmly. 


NIGHT    THE    FIRST.  15 

"Take  a  brandy- toddy,  Mr.  H ?"  said 

Hammond,  after  the  discussion  closed,  good 
humoredly.  "Frank,  our  junior  bar-keeper 
here,  beats  his  father,  in  that  line." 

"  I  don't  care  if  I  do,"  returned  the  farmer ; 
and  the  two  passed  up  to  the  bar. 

"Now,  Frank,  my  boy,  don't  belie  my 
praises,"  said  the  young  man ;  "  do  your  hand 
somest." 

"Two  brandy-toddies,  did  you  say?"  Frank 
made  the  inquiry  with  quite  a  professional 
air. 

"  Just  what  I  did  say ;  and  let  them  be  equal 
to  Jove's  nectar." 

Pleased  at  this  familiarity,  the  boy  went 
briskly  to  his  work  of  mixing  the  tempting 
compound,  while  Hammond  looked  on  with 
an  approving  smile. 

"There,"  said  the  latter,  as  Frank  passed  the 
glasses  across  the  counter,  "if  you  don't  call 
that  first-rate,  you're  no  judge."  And  he  handed 
one  of  them  to  the  farmer,  who  tasted  the 


16  TEN    NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

agreeable  draught,  and  praised  its  flavor.  As 
before,  I  noticed  that  Hammond  drank  eagerly, 
like  one  athirst — emptying  his  glass  without 
once  taking  it  from  his  lips. 

Soon  after  the  bar-room  was  empty ;  and  then 
I  walked  around  the  premises,  in  company  with 
the  landlord,  and  listened  to  his  praise  of  every 
thing  and  his  plans  and  purposes  for  the  future. 
The  house,  yard,  garden,  and  out-buildings  were 
in  the  most  perfect  order;  presenting,  in  the 
whole,  a  model  of  a  village  tavern. 

"  Whatever  I  do,  sir,"  said  the  talkative  Simon 
Slade,  "I  like  to  do  well.  I  wasn't  just  raised 
to  tavern-keeping,  you  must  know ;  but  I'm  one 
who  can  turn  his  hand  to  almost  any  thing." 

"  What  was  your  business  ? "  I  inquired. 

"  I'm  a  miller,  sir,  by  trade,"  he  answered— 
"  and  a  better  miller,  though  I  say  it  myself,  is 
not  to  be  found  in  Bolton  county.  I've  fol 
lowed  milling  these  twenty  years,  and  made 
some  little  money.  But  I  got  tired  of  hard 
work,  and  determined  to  lead  an  easier  life. 


NIGHT   THE    FIRST.  17 

So  I  sold  my  mill,  and  built  this  house  with 
the  money.  I  always  thought  I'd  like  tavern-keep 
ing.  It's  an  easy  life ;  and,  if  rightly  seen  after, 
one  in  which  a  man  is  sure  to  make  money." 

"  You  were  still  doing  a  fair  business  with 
your  mill  ? " 

"  Oh,  yes.  Whatever  I  do,  I  do  right.  Last 
year,  I  put  by  a  thousand  dollars  above  all 
expenses,  which  is  not  bad,  I  can  assure  you, 
for  a  mere  grist  mill.  If  the  present  owner 
comes  out  even,  he'll  do  well !  " 

"  How  is  that  ? " 

"Oh,  he's  no  miller.  Give  him  the  best 
wheat  that  is  grown,  and  he'll  ruin  it  in  grind 
ing.  He  takes  the  life  out  of  every  grain.  I 
don't  believe  he'll  keep  half  the  custom  that 
I  transferred  with  the  mill. " 

"  A  thousand  dollars,  clear  profit,  in  so  useful 
a  business,  ought  to  have  satisfied  you,"  said  I. 

"  There  you  and  I  differ,"  answered  the  land 
lord.  "Every  man  desires  to  make  as  much 
money  as  possible,  and  with  the  least  labor.  I 


18  TEN    NIGHTS    IN    A    BAR-ROOM. 

hope  to  make  two  or  three  thousand  dollars  a 
year,  over  and  above  all  expenses,  at  tavern- 
keeping.  My  bar  alone  ought  to  yield  me  that 
sum.  A  man  with  a  wife  and  children  very  natu 
rally  tries  to  do  as  well  by  them  as  possible." 

"Very  true;  but,"  I  ventured  to  suggest, 
"  will  this  be  doing  as  well  by  them  as  if  you 
had  kept  on  at  the  mill  ? " 

"  Two  or  three  thousand  dollars  a  year  against 
one  thousand  !  Where  are  your  figures,  man  ?" 

"  There  may  be  something  beyond  the  money 
to  take  into  the  account,"  said  I. 

"  What  ? "  inquired  Slade,  with  a  kind  of  half 
credulity. 

"Consider  the  different  influences. of  the  two 
callings  in  life — that  of  a  miller  and  a  tavern- 
keeper." 

"  Well !  say  on." 

"  Will  your  children  be  as  safe  from  tempta 
tion  here  as  in  their  former  home? " 

"  Just  as  safe,"  was  the  unhesitating  answer. 
"Why  not?" 


NIGHT    THE   FIRST.  19 

I  was  about  to  speak  of  the  alluring  glass  in 
the  case  of  Frank,  but  remembering  that  I  had 
already  expressed  a  fear  in  that  direction,  felt 
that  to  do  so  again  would  be  useless,  and  so  kept 
silent. 

"  A  tavern-keeper,"  said  Slade,  "  is  just  as 
respectable  as  a  miller — in  fact,  the  very  people 
who  used  to  call  me  '  Simon '  or  '  Neighbor 
Dusty  coat,'  now  say  '  Landlord,'  or  Mr.  Slade, 
and  treat  me  in  every  way  more  as  if  I  were  an 
equal  than  ever  they  did  before." 

"The  change,"  said  I,  "maybe  due  to  the 
fact  of  your  giving  evidence  of  possessing  'some 
means.  Men  are  very  apt  to  be  courteous  to 
those  who  have  property.  The  building  of  the 
tavern  has,  without  doubt,  contributed  to  the 
new  estimation  in  which  you  are  held." 

"That  isn't  all,"  replied  the  landlord.  ".It 
is  because  I  am  keeping  a  good  tavern,  and 
thus  materially  advancing  the  interests  of  Cedar- 
ville,  that  some  of  our  best  people  look  at  me 
with  different  eyes." 


20  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAK-KOOM. 

"  Advancing  the  interests  of  Cedarville  !  In 
what  way  ? "  I  did  not  apprehend  his  meaning. 

"A  good  tavern  always  draws  people  to  a 
place,  while  a  miserable  old  tumble-down  of  an 
affair,  badly  kept,  such  as  we  have  had  for 
years,  as  surely  repels  them.  You  can  gener 
ally  tell  something  about  the  condition  of  a 
town  by  looking  at  its  taverns.  If  they  are 
well  kept,  and  doing  a  good  business,  you  will 
hardly  be  wrong  in  the  conclusion  that  the 
place  is  thriving.  Why,  already,  since  I  built 
and  opened  the  i  Sickle  and  Sheaf,'  property 
has  advanced  over  twenty  per  cent,  along  the 
whole  street,  and  not  less  than  five  new  houses 
have  been  commenced." 

"  Other  causes,  besides  the  simple  opening  of 
a  new  tavern,  may  have  contributed  to  this 
result,"  said  I. 

"  None  of  which  I  am  aware.  I  was  talking 
with  Judge  Hammond  only  yesterday — he 
owns  a  great  deal  of  ground  on  the  street — and 
he  did  not  hesitate  to  say,  that  the  building 


NIGHT   THE    FIRST.  21 

and  opening  of  a  good  tavern  here  had  increased 
the  value  of  his  property  at  least  five  thousand 
dollars.  He  said,  moreover,  that  he  thought 
the  people  of  Cedarville  ought  to  present  me 
with  a  silver  pitcher;  and  that,  for  one,  he 
would  contribute  ten  dollars  for  the  purpose." 
The  ringing  of  the  supper  bell  interrupted 
further  conversation ;  and  with  the  best  of  appe 
tites,  I  took  my  way  to  the  room,  where  a  plen 
tiful  meal  was  spread.  As  I  entered,  I  met  the 
wife  of  Simon  Slade,  just  passing  out,  after 
seeing  that  every  thing  was  in  order.  I  had  not 
observed  her  before ;  and  now  could  not  help 
remarking  that  she  had  a  flushed,  excited  coun 
tenance,  as  if  she  had  been  over  a  hot  fire,  and 
was  both  worried  and  fatigued.  And  there  was, 
moreover,  a  peculiar  expression  of  the  mouth, 
never  observed  in  one  whose  mind  is  entirely 
at  ease — an  expression  that  once  seen  is  never 
forgotten.  The  face  stamped  itself,  instantly, 
on  my  memory ;  and  I  can  even  now  recall  it 
with  almost  the  original  distinctness.  How 


22  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

strongly  it  contrasted  with  that  of  her  smiling, 
self-satisfied  husband,  who  took  his  place  at  the 
head  of  his  table  with  an  air  of  conscious  impor 
tance.  I  was  too  hungry  to  talk  much,  and  so 
found  greater  enjoyment  in  eating  than  in  con 
versation.  The  landlord  had  a  more  chatty 
guest  by  his  side,  and  I  left  them  to  entertain 
each  other,  while  I  did  ample  justice  to  the 
excellent  food  with  which  the  table  was  liber 
ally  provided. 

After  supper  I  went  to  the  sitting-room,  and 
remained  there  until  the  lamps  were  lighted. 
A  newspaper  occupied  my  time  for  perhaps 
half  an  hour ;  then  the  buzz  of  voices  from  the 
adjoining  bar-room,  which  had  been  increasing 
for  some  time,  attracted  my  attention,  and  I 
went  in  there  to  see  and  hear  what  was  passing. 
The  first  person  upon  whom  my  eyes  rested  was 
young  Hammond,  who  sat  talking  with  a  man 
older  than  himself  by  several  years.  At  a  glance, 
I  saw  that  this  man  could  only  associate  him 
self  with  Willy  Hammond  as  a  tempter.  Un- 


NIGHT   THE   FIRST.  23 

scrupulous  selfishness  was  written  all  over  his 
sinister  countenance ;  and  I  wondered  that  it 
did  not  strike  every  one,  as  it  did  me,  with 
instant  repulsion.  There  could  not  be,  I  felt 
certain,  any  common  ground  of  association,  for 
two  such  persons,  but  the  dead  level  of  a  village 
bar-room.  I  afterward  learned,  during  the  even 
ing,  that  this  man's  name  was  Harvey  Green, 
and  that  he  was  an  occasional  visitor  at  Cedar- 
ville,  remaining  a  few  days,  or  a  few  weeks  at 
a  time,  as  appeared  to  suit  his  fancy,  and  hav 
ing  no  ostensible  business  or  special  acquaint 
ance  with  anybody  in  the  village. 

"  There  is  one  thing  about  him,"  remarked 
Simon  Slade,  in  answering  some  question  that 
I  put  in  reference  to  the  man,  "that  I  don't 
object  to ;  he  has  plenty  of  money,  and  is  not 
at  all  niggardly  in  spending  it.  He  used  to 
come  here,  so  he  told  me,  about  once  in  five  or 
six  months ;  but  his  stay  at  the  miserably  kept 
tavern,  the  only  one  then  in  Cedarville,  was  so 
uncomfortable,  that  he  had  pretty  well  made 


24  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-KOOM. 

up  his  mind  never  to  visit  us  again.  Now, 
however,  he  has  engaged  one  of  my  best  rooms, 
for  which  he  pays  me  by  the  year,  and  I  am  to 
charge  him  full  board  for  the  time  he  occupies 
it.  He  says  that  there  is  something  about 
Cedarville  that  always  attracts  him ;  and  that  his 
health  is  better  while  here  than  it  is  anywhere, 
except  South  during  the  winter  season.  He'll 
not  leave  less  than  two  or  three  hundred  dol 
lars  a  year  in  our  village — there  is  one  item,  for 
you,  of  advantage  to  a  place  in  having  a  good 
tavern." 

"What  is  his  business?"  I  asked.  "Is  he 
engaged  in  any  trading  operations  ? " 

The  landlord  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and 
looked  slightly  mysterious,  as  he  answered : 

"I  never  inquire  about  the  business  of  a 
guest.  My  calling  is  to  entertain  strangers. 
If  they  are  pleased  with  my  house,  and  pay  my 
bills  on  presentation,  I  have  no  right  to  seek 
further.  As  a  miller,  I  never  asked  a  cus 
tomer  whether  he  raised,  bought,  or  stole  his 


NIGHT    THE    FIRST.  25 

wheat.  It  was  my  business  to  grind  it,  and  I 
took  care  to  do  it  well.  Beyond  that,  it  was 
all  his  own  affair.  And  so  it  will  be  in  my 
new  calling.  I  shall  mind  my  own  business 
and  keep  my  own  place." 

Besides  young  Hammond  and  this  Harvey 
Green,  there  were  in  the  bar-room,  when  I 
entered,  four  others  besides  the  landlord. 
Among  these  was  a  Judge  Lyman — so  he  was 
addressed — a  man  between  forty  and  fifty  years 
of  age,  who  had  a  few  weeks  before  received 
the  Democratic  nomination  for  member  of 
Congress.  He  was  very  talkative  and  very 
affable,  and  soon  formed  a  kind  of  centre  of 
attraction  to  the  bar-room  circle.  Among 
other  topics  of  conversation  that  came  up  was 
the  new  tavern,  introduced  by  the  landlord,  in 
whose  mind  it  was,  very  naturally,  the  upper 
most  thought. 

"The  only  wonder  to  me  is,"  said  Judge 
Lyman,  "that  nobody  had  wit  enough  to  see 
the  advantage  of  a  good  tavern  in  Cedar vi lie 


26  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

ten  years  ago,  or  enterprise  enough  to  start 
one.  I  give  our  friend  Slade  the  credit  of 
being  a  shrewd,  far-seeing  man ;  and,  mark  my 
word  for  it,  in  ten  years  from  to-day  he  will  be 
the  richest  man  in  the  county." 

"Nonsense — Ho !  ho  ! "  Simon  Slade  laughed 
outright.  "  The  richest  man !  You  forget 
Judge  Hammond." 

"No,  not  even  Judge  Hammond,  with  all 
deference  for  our  clever  friend  Willy,"  and 
Judge  Lyman  smiled  pleasantly  on  the  young 
man. 

"If  he  gets  richer,  somebody  will  be  poor 
er!"  The  individual  who  uttered  these  words 
had  not  spoken  before,  and  I  turned  to  look  at 
him  more  closely.  A  glance  showed  him  to 
be  one  of  a  class  seen  in  all  bar-rooms ;  a  poor, 
broken-down  inebriate,  with  the  inward  power 
of  resistance  gone — conscious  of  having  no 
man's  respect,  and  giving  respect  to  none. 
There  was  a  shrewd  twinkle  in  his  eyes,  as  he 
fixed  them  on  Slade,  that  gave  added  force  to 


NIGHT   THE   FIRST.  27 

the  peculiar  tone  in  which  his  brief  but  telling 
sentence  was  uttered.  I  noticed  a  slight  con 
traction  on  the  landlord's  ample  forehead,  the 
first  evidence  I  had  yet  seen  of  ruffled  feelings. 
The  remark,  thrown  in  so  untimely  (or  timely, 
some  will  say),  and  with  a  kind  of  prophetic 
malice,  produced  a  temporary  pause  in  the  con 
versation.  No  one  answered  or  questioned  the 
intruder,  who,  I  could  perceive,  silently  enjoyed 
the  effect  of  his  words.  But  soon  the  obstruct 
ed  current  ran  on  again. 

"If  our  excellent  friend,  Mr.  Slade,"  said 
Harvey  Green,  "is  not  the  richest  man  in 
Cedarville  at  the  end  of  ten  years,  he  will  at 
least  enjoy  the  satisfaction  of  having  made  his 
town  richer." 

"  A  true  word  that,"  replied  Judge  Lyman — 
"as  true  a  word  as  ever  was  spoken.  What  a 
dead-and-alive  place  this  has  been  until  within 
the  last  few  months.  All  vigorous  growth  had 
stopped,  and  we  were  actually  going  to  seed." 

"  And  the  graveyard  too,"  muttered  the  indi 


28  TEN   NIGHTS    IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

vidual  who  had  before  disturbed  the  self -satis 
fied  harmony  of  the  company,  remarking  upon 
the  closing  sentence  of  Harvey  Green.  "  Come, 
landlord,"  he  added,  as  he  strode  across  to  the 
bar,  speaking  in  a  changed,  reckless  sort  of  a 
way,  "  fix  me  up  a  good  hot  whisky-punch,  and 
do  it  right;  and  there's  another  sixpence  toward 
the  fortune  you  are  bound  to  make.  It's  the 
last  one  left — not  a  copper  more  in  my  pock 
ets,"  and  he  turned  them  inside-out,  with  a 
half-solemn,  half-ludicrous  -air.  "  I  send  it  to 
keep  company  in  your  till  with  four  others 
that  have  found  their  way  into  that  snug  place 
since  morning,  and  which  will  be  lonesome 
without  their  little  friend." 

I  looked  at  Simon  Slade ;  his  eyes  rested  on 
mine  for  a  moment  or  two,  and  then  sunk  be 
neath  my  earnest  gaze.  I  saw  that  his  coun 
tenance  flushed,  and  that  his  motions  were 
slightly  confused.  The  incident,  it  was  plain, 
did  not  awaken  agreeable  thoughts.  Once  I 
saw  his  hand  move  toward  the  sixpence  that  lay 


NIGHT   THE    FIRST.  29 

upon  the  counter ;  but  whether  to  push  it  back 
or  draw  it  toward  the  till,  I  could  not  deter 
mine.  The  whisky-punch  was  in  due  time 
ready,  and  with  it  the  man  retired  to  a  table 
across  the  room,  and  sat  down  to  enjoy  the 
tempting  beverage.  As  he  did  so,  the  landlord 
quietly  swept  the  poor  unfortunate's  last  six 
pence  into  his  drawer.  The  influence  of  this 
strong  potation  was  to  render  the  man  a  little 
more  talkative.  To  the  free  conversation  pass 
ing  around  him  he  lent  an  attentive  ear,  drop 
ping  in  a  word,  now  and  then,  that  always  told 
upon  the  company  like  a  well-directed  blow. 
At  last,  Slade  lost  all  patience  with  him,  and 
said,  a  little  fretfully  : 

"  Look  here,  Joe  Morgan,  if  you  will  be  ill- 
natured,  pray  go  somewhere  else,  and  not  inter 
rupt  good  feeling  among  gentlemen." 

"Got  my  last  sixpence,"  retorted  Joe,  turn 
ing  his  pockets  inside-out  again.  uNo  more 
use  for  me  here  to-night.  That's  the  way  of 
the  world.  How  apt  a  scholar  is  our  good 


30  TEN   NIGHTS    IN    A   BAR-ROOM. 

friend  Dustycoat,  in  this  new  school !  Well, 
he  was  a  good  miller — no  one  ever  disputed 
that — and  it's  plain  to  see  that  he  is  going  to 
make  a  good  landlord.  I  thought  his  heart 
was  a  little  too  soft ;  but  the  indurating  process 
has  begun,  and,  in  less  than  ten  years,  if  it 
isn't  as  hard  as  one  of  his  old  millstones,  Joe 
Morgan  is  no  prophet.  Oh,  you  needn't  knit 
your  brows  so,  friend  Simon,  we're  old 
friends;  and  friends  are  privileged  to  speak 
plain." 

"I  wish  you'd  go  home.  You're  not  your 
self,  to-night,"  said  the  landlord,  a  little  coax- 
ingly,  for  he  saw  that  nothing  was  to  be  gained 
by  quarreling  with  Morgan.  "  Maybe  my  heart 
is  growing  harder,"  he  added,  with  affected 
good-humor ;  "  and  it  is  time,  perhaps.  One  of 
my  weaknesses,  I  have  heard  even  you  say,  was 
being  too  woman-hearted." 

"  No  danger  of  that  now,"  retorted  Joe  Mor 
gan.  "I've  known  a  good  many  landlords  in 
my  time,  but  can't  remember  one  that  was 


NIGHT   THE   FIRST.  31 

troubled  with   the  disease  that  once  afflicted 
you." 

Just  at  this  moment  the  outer  door  was 
pushed  open  with  a  slow,  hesitating  motion; 
then  a  little  pale  face  peered  in,  and  a  pair  of 
soft  blue  eyes  went  searching  about  the  room. 
Conversation  was  instantly  hushed,  and  every 
face,  excited  with  interest,  turned  toward  the 
child,  who  had  now  stepped  through  the  door. 
She  was  not  over  ten  years  of  age ;  but  it 
moved  the  heart  to  look  upon  the  saddened 
expression  of  her  young  countenance,  and  the 
forced  bravery  therein,  that  scarcely  over 
came  the  native  timidity  so  touchingly  visi 
ble. 

"Father!"  I  have  never  heard  this  word 
spoken  in  a  voice  that  sent  such  a  thrill  along 
every  nerve.  It  was  full  of  sorrowful  love- 
full  of  a  tender  concern  that  had  its  origin  too 
deep  for  the  heart  of  a  child.  As  she  spoke, 
the  little  one  sprang  across  the  room,  and  lay 
ing  her  hands  upon  the  arm  of  Joe  Morgan, 


32  TEN   NIGHTS    IN    A   BAR-BOOM. 

lifted  her  eyes,  that  were  ready  to  gush  over 
with  tears,  to  his  face. 

"  Come,  father !  won't  you  come  home  ? "  I 
hear  that  low,  pleading  voice  even  now,  and 
my  heart  gives  a  quicker  throb.  Poor  child  ! 
Darkly  shadowed  was  the  sky  that  bent  gloom 
ily  over  thy  young  life. 

Morgan  arose,  and  suffered  the  child  to  lead 
him  from  the  room.  He  seemed  passive  in  her 
hands.  I  noticed  that  he  thrust  his  fingers 
nervously  into  his  pocket,  and  that  a  troubled 
look  went  over  his  face  as  they  were  with 
drawn.  His  last  sixpence  was  in  the  till  of 
Simon  Slade ! 

The  first  man  who  spoke  was  Harvey  Green, 
and  this  not  for  a  minute  after  the  father  and 
his  child  had  vanished  through  the  door. 

"  If  I  was  in  your  place,  landlord  "  —his  voice 
was  cold  and  unfeeling — "  I'd  pitch  that  fellow 
out  of  the  bar-room  the  next  time  he  stepped 
through  the  door.  He's  no  business  here,  in 
the  first  place ;  and,  in  the  second,  he  doesn't 


'COME,  FATHER!    WON'T  You  COME  HOME?" 


NIGHT   THE    FIRST.  t>3 

know  how  to  behave  himself.  There's  no  tell 
ing  how  much  a  vagabond  like  him  injures  a 
respectable  house." 

"  I  wish  he  would  stay  away,"  said  Simon, 
with  a  perplexed  air. 

"  I'd  make  him  stay  away,"  answered  Green. 

"That  may  be  easier  said  than  done,"  re 
marked  Judge  Lyman.  "Our  friend  keeps  a 
public-house,  and  can't  just  say  who  shall  or 
shall  not  come  into  it." 

"But  such  a  fellow  has  no  business  here. 
He's  a  good-for-nothing  sot.  If  I  kept  a  tav 
ern,  I'd  refuse  to  sell  him  liquor." 

"  That  you  might  do,"  said  Judge  Lymau ; 
"  and  I  presume  your  hint  will  not  be  lost  on 
our  friend  Slade." 

"  He  will  have  liquor,  so  long  as  he  can  get  a 
cent  to  buy  it  with,"  remarked  one  of  the  com 
pany  ;  "  and  I  don't  see  why  our  landlord  here, 
who  has  gone  to  so  much  expense  to  fit  up  a 
tavern,  shouldn't  have  the  sale  of  it  as  well  as 
anybody  else.  Joe  talks  a  little  freely  some- 


34  TEN  NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

times ;  but  no  one  can  say  that  he  is  quarrel 
some.  You've  got  to  take  him  as  he  is,  that's 
all." 

<(  I  am  one,"  retorted  Harvey  Green,  with  a 
slightly  ruffled  manner,  "  who  is  never  disposed 
to  take  people  as  they  are  when  they  choose 
to  render  themselves  disagreeable.  If  I  was 
Mr.  Slade,  as  I  remarked  in  the  beginning,  I'd 
pitch  that  fellow  into  the  road  the  next  time 
he  put  his  foot  over  my  door-step." 

"  Not  if  I  were  present,"  remarked  the  other, 
coolly. 

Green  was  on  his  feet  in  a  moment ;  and  I 
saw,  from  the  flash  of  his  eyes,  that  he  was 
a  man  of  evil  passions.  Moving  a  pace  or  two 
in  the  direction  of  the  other,  he  said  sharply : 

"What  is  that,  sir?" 

The  individual  against  whom  his  anger  was 
so  suddenly  aroused  was  dressed  plainly,  and 
had  the  appearance  of  a  working-man.  He 
was  stout  and  muscular. 

"  I  presume  you  heard  my  words.   They  were 


NIGHT   THE   FIRST.  35 

spoken  distinctly,"  he  replied,  not  moving  from 
where  he  sat,  nor  seeming  to  be  in  the  least  dis 
turbed.  But  there  was  cool  defiance  in  the  tones 
of  his  voice  and  in  the  steady  look  of  his  eyes. 

"  You're  an  impertinent  fellow,  and  I'm  half 
tempted  to  chastise  you." 

Green  had  scarcely  finished  the  sentence,  ere 
he  was  lying  at  full  length  upon  the  floor ! 
The  other  had  sprung  upon  him  like  a  tiger, 
and  with  one  blow  from  his  heavy  fist,  struck 
him  down  as  if  he  had  been  a  child.  For  a 
moment  or'two,  Green  lay  stunned  and  bewil 
dered — then,  starting  up  with  a  savage  cry,  that 
sounded  more  bestial  than  human,  he  drew  a 
long  knife  from  a  concealed  sheath,  and  at 
tempted  to  stab  his  assailant ;  but  the  murder 
ous  purpose  was  not  accomplished,  for  the 
other  man,  who  had  superior  strength  and 
coolness,  saw  the  design,  and  with  a  well- 
directed  blow  almost  broke  the  arm  of  Green, 
causing  the  knife  to  leave  his  hand  and  glide 
far  across  the  room. 


36  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-KOOM. 

"  I'm  half  tempted  to  wring  your  neck  off," 
exclaimed  the  man,  whose  name  was  Lyon, 
now  much  excited;  and  seizing  Green  by 
the  throat,  he  strangled  him  until  his  face 
grew  black.  "  Draw  a  knife  on  me,  ha ! 
You  murdering  villain  ! "  And  he  gripped 
him  tighter. 

Judge  Lyman  and  the  landlord  now  inter 
fered,  and  rescued  Green  from  the  hands  of 
his  fully  aroused  antagonist.  For  some  time 
they  stood  growling  at  each  other,  like  two 
parted  dogs  struggling  to  get  free,  in  order  to 
renew  the  conflict,  but  gradually  cooled  off. 
In  a  little  while  Judge  Lyman  drew  Green 
aside,  and  the  two  men  left  the  bar-room  to 
gether.  In  the  door,  as  they  were  retiring,  the 
former  slightly  nodded  to  Willy  Hammond, 
who  soon  followed  them,  going  into  the  sitting- 
room;  and  from  thence,  as  I  could  perceive, 
up-stairs,  to  an  apartment  above. 

"  Not  after  much  good,"  I  heard  Lyon  mutter 
to  himself.  "  If  Judge  Hammond  don't  look  a 


NIGHT   THE   FIRST.  37 

little  closer  after  that  boy  of  his,  he'll  be  sorry 
for  it,  that's  all." 

"  Who  is  this  Green  ?"  I  asked  of  Lyon,  find 
ing  myself  alone  with  him  in  the  bar-room, 
soon  after. 

"  A  blackleg,  I  take  it,"  was  his  unhesitating 
answer. 

"Does  Judge  Lyman  suspect  his  real  charac 
ter?" 

"I  don't  know  any  thing  about  that;  but  I 
wouldn't  be  afraid  to  bet  ten  dollars,  that  if 
you  could  look  in  upon  them  now,  you  would 
find  cards  in  their  hands." 

"  What  a  school,  and  what  teachers  for  the 
youth  who  just  went  with  them  ! "  I  could  not 
help  remarking. 

"  Willy  Hammond  ? " 

"  Yes." 

"You  may  well  say  that.  What  can  his 
father  be  thinking  about  to  leave  him  exposed 
to  such  influences-! 

"  He's  one  of  the  few  who  are  in  raptures 


38  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAB-ROOM. 

about  this  tavern,  because  its  erection  has 
slightly  increased  the  value  of  his  property 
about  here ;  but  if  he  is  not  the  loser  of  fifty 
per  cent,  for  every  one  gained,  before  ten  years 
go  by,  I'm  very  much  in  error." 

" How  so?" 

"  It  will  prove,  I  fear,  the  open  door  to  ruin 
for  his  son." 

"That's  bad,"  said  I. 

"  Bad !  It  is  awful  to  think  of.  There  is 
not  a  finer  young  man  in  the  country,  nor  one 
with  better  mind  and  heart,  than  Willy  Ham 
mond.  So  much  the  sadder  will  be  his  de 
struction.  Ah,  sir !  this  tavern-keeping  is  a 
curse  to  any  place." 

"But  I  thought,  just  now,  that  you  spoke  in 
favor  of  letting  even  the  poor  drunkard's 
money  go  into  our  landlord's  till,  in  order  to 
encourage  his  commendable  enterprise  in  open 
ing  so  good  a  tavern." 

"  We  all  speak  with  covert  irony  sometimes," 
answered  the  man,  "  as  I  did  then.  Poor  Joe 


NIGHT  THE   FIRST.  39 

Morgan !  He  is  an  old  and  early  friend  of 
Simon  Slade.  They  were  boys  together,  and 
worked  as  millers  under  the  same  roof  for  many 
years.  In  fact,  Joe's  father  owned  the  mill,  and 
the  two  learned  their  trade  with  him.  When 
old  Morgan  died,  the  mill  came  into  Joe's 
hands.  It  was  in  rather  a  worn-out  condition, 
and  Joe  went  in  debt  for  some  pretty  thorough 
repairs  and  additions  of  machinery.  By  and 
by,  Simon  Slade,  who  was  hired  by  Joe  to  run 
the  mill,  received  a  couple  of  thousand  dollars 
at  the  death  of  an  aunt.  This  sum  enabled  him 
to  buy  a  share  in  the  mill,  which  Morgan  was 
very  glad  to  sell  in  order  to  get  clear  of  his 
debt.  Time  passed  on,  and  Joe  left  his  milling 
interest  almost  entirely  in  the  care  of  Slade, 
who,  it  must  be  said  in  his  favor,  did  not 
neglect  the  business.  But  it  somehow  hap 
pened — I  will  not  say  unfairly — that  at  the 
end  of  ten  years,  Joe  Morgan  no  longer  owned 
a  share  in  the  mill.  The  whole  property  was 
in  the  hands  of  Slade.  People  did  not  much 


40  TEN   NIGHTS    IN    A    BAB-ROOM. 

wonder  at  this ;  for  while  Slade  was  always  to 
be  found  at  the  mill,  industrious,  active,  and 
attentive  to  customers,  Morgan  was  rarely  seen 
on  the  premises.  You  would  oftener  find  him 
in  the  woods,  with  a  gun  over  his  shoulder,  or 
sitting  by  a  trout  brook,  or  lounging  at  the 
tavern.  And  yet  everybody  liked  Joe,  for  he 
was  companionable,  quick-witted,  and  very  kind- 
hearted.  He  would  say  sharp  things,  some 
times,  when  people  manifested  little  mean 
nesses  ;  but  there  was  so  much  honey  in  his 
gall,  that  bitterness  rarely  predominated. 

"  A  year  or  two  before  his  ownership  in  the 
mill  ceased,  Morgan  married  one  of  the  sweet 
est  girls  in  our  town — Fanny  Ellis,  that  was 
her  name,  and  she  could  have  had  her  pick  of 
the  young  men.  Everybody  affected  to  wonder 
at  her  choice ;  and  yet  nobody  really  did  won 
der,  for  Joe  was  an  attractive  young  man,  take 
him  as  you  would,  and  just  the  one  to  win  the 
heart  of  a  girl  like  Fanny.  What  if  he  had 
been  seen,  now  and  then,  a  little  the  worse  for 


NIGHT   THE   FIRST. 

drink !  What  if  he  showed  more  fondness  for 
pleasure  than  for  business!  Fanny  did  not 
look  into  the  future  with  doubt  or  fear.  She 
believed  that  her  love  was  strong  enough  to 
win  him  from  all  evil  allurements ;  and,  as  for 
this  world's  goods,  they  were  matters  in  which 
her  maiden  fancies  rarely  busied  themselves. 

"Well.  Dark  days  came  for  her,  poor  soul! 
And  yet,  in  all  the  darkness  of  her  earthly  lot, 
she  has  never,  it  is  said,  been  any  thing  but 
a  loving,  forbearing,  self-denying  wife  to  Mor 
gan.  And  he — fallen  as  he  is,  and  powerless  in 
the  grasp  of  the  monster  intemperance — has 
never,  I  am  sure,  hurt  her  with  a  cruel  word. 
Had  he  added  these,  her  heart  would,  long  ere 
this,  have  broken.  Poor  Joe  Morgan !  Poor 
Fanny !  Oh,  what  a  curse  is  this  drink ! " 

The  man,  warming  with  his  theme,  had 
spoken  with  an  eloquence  I  had  not  expected 
from  his  lips.  Slightly  overmastered  by  his 
feelings,  he  paused  for  a  moment  or  two,  and 
then  added: 


4&  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

"It  was  unfortunate  for  Joe,  at  least,  that 
Slade  sold  his  mill,  and  became  a  tavern-keeper ; 
for  Joe  had  a  sure  berth,  and  wages  regularly 
paid.  He  didn't  always  stick  to  his  work,  but 
would  go  off  on  a  spree  every  now  and  then ; 
but  Slade  bore  with  all  this,  and  worked  harder 
himself  to  make  up  for  his  hand's  shortcoming. 
And  no  matter  what  deficiency  the  little  store 
room  at  home  might  show,  Fanny  Morgan  never 
found  her  meal  barrel  empty  without  knowing 
where  to  get  it  replenished. 

"But,  after  Slade  sold  the  mill,  a  sad  change 
took  place.  The  new  owner  was  little  disposed 
to  pay  wages  to  a  hand  who  would  not  give 
him  all  his  time  during  working  hours ;  and  in 
less  than  two  weeks  from  the  day  he  took  pos 
session,  Morgan  was  discharged.  Since  then, 
he  has  been  working  about  at  one  odd  job  and 
another,  earning  scarcely  enough  to  buy  the 
liquor  it  requires  to  feed  the  inordinate  thirst 
that  is  consuming  him.  I  am  not  disposed  to 
blame  Simon  Slade  for  the  wrong-doing  of 


NIGHT   THE   FIRST.  43 

Morgan ;  but  here  is  a  simple  fact  in  the  case — 
if  he  had  kept  on  at  the  useful  calling  of  a 
miller,  he  would  have  saved  this  man's  family 
from   want,   suffering,   and    a   lower  deep   of 
misery  than  that  into  which  they  have  already 
fallen.    I  merely  state  it,  and  you  can  draw  your 
own  conclusion.     It  is  one  of  the  many  facts, 
on  the  other  side  of  this  tavern  question,  which 
it  will  do  no  harm  to  mention.     I  have  noted  a 
good  many  facts  besides,  and  one  is,  that  before 
Slade  opened  the  "  Sickle  and  Sheaf,"  he  did  al] 
in  his  power  to  save  his  early  friend  from  the 
curse  of  intemperance ;  now  he  has  become  his 
tempter.     Heretofore,  it  was  his  hand  that  pro 
vided  the  means  for  his  family  to  live  in  some 
small  degree  of  comfort ;  now  he  takes  the  poor 
pittance  the  wretched  man  earns,  and  dropping 
it  in  his  till,  forgets  the  wife  and  children  at 
home  who  are  hungry  for  the  bread  this  money 
should  have  purchased. 

"  Joe  Morgan,  fallen  as  he  is,  sir,  is  no  fool. 
His  mind  sees  quickly  yet ;  and  he  rarely  utters 


TEN    NIGHTS    IN    A   BAR-ROOM. 

a  sentiment  that  is  not  full  of  meaning.  "When 
he  spoke  of  Slade's  heart  growing  as  hard  in 
ten  years  as  one  of  his  old  mill-stones,  he  was  not 
uttering  words  at  random,  nor  merely  indulging 
in  a  harsh  sentiment,  little  caring  whether  it 
were  closely  applicable  or  not.  That  the  in 
durating  process  had  begun,  he,  alas !  was  too 
sadly  conscious." 

The  landlord  had  been  absent  from  the  room 
for  some  time.  He  left  soon  after  Judge  Lyman, 
Harvey  Green,  and  Willy  Hammond  withdrew, 
and  I  did  not  see  him  again  during  the  evening. 
His  son  Frank  was  left  to  attend  at  the  bar; 
no  very  hard  task,  for  not  more  than  half  a 
dozen  called  in  to  drink  from  the  time  Morgan 
left  until  the  bar  was  closed. 

While  Mr.  Lyon  was  giving  me  the  brief 
history  just  recorded,  I  noticed  a  little  incident 
that  caused  a  troubled  feeling  to  pervade  my 
mind.  After  a  man,  for  whom  the  landlord's 
son  had  prepared  a  fancy  drink,  had  nearly 
emptied  his  glass,  he  sat  it  down  upon  the 


NIGHT   THE   FIRST.  45 

counter  and  went  out.  A  tablespoonful  or  two 
remained  in  the  glass,  and  I  noticed  Frank, 
after  smelling  at  it  two  or  three  times,  put  the 
glass  to  his  lips  and  sip  the  sweetened  liquor. 
The  flavor  proved  agreeable ;  for,  after  tasting 
it,  lie  raised  the  glass  again  and  drained  every 
drop. 

"  Frank  ! "  I  heard  a  low  voice,  in  a  warning 
tone,  pronounce  the  name,  and  glancing  toward 
a  door  partly  open,  that  led  from  the  inside  of 
the  bar  to  the  yard,  I  saw  the  face  of  Mrs. 
Slade.  It  had  the  same  troubled  expression  I 
had  noticed  before,  but  now  blended  with  more 
of  anxiety. 

The  boy  went  out  at  the  call  of  his  mother; 
and  when  a  new  customer  entered,  I  noticed 
that  Flora,  the  daughter,  came  in  to  wait  upon 
him.  I  noticed,  too,  that  while  she  poured  out 
the  liquor,  there  was  a  heightened  color  on  her 
face,  in  which  I  fancied  that  I  saw  a  tinge  of 
shame.  It  is  certain  that  she  was  not  in  the 
least  gracious  to  the  person  on  whom  she  was 


46  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

waiting ;  and  that  there  was  little  heart  in  her 
manner  of  performing  the  task. 

Ten  o'clock  found  me  alone  and  musing  in 
the  bar-room  over  the  occurrences  of  the  evening. 
Of  all  the  incidents,  that  of  the  entrance  of  Joe 
Morgan's  child  kept  the  most  prominent  place 
in  my  thoughts.     The  picture  of  that  mournful 
little  face  was  ever  before  me ;  and  I  seemed 
all  the  while  to  hear  the  word  "Father,"  uttered 
so  touchingly,  and  yet  with  such  a  world  of 
childish  tenderness.     And  the  man,  who  would 
have  opposed  the  most  stubborn  resistance  to 
his  fellow-men,  had  they  sought  to  force  him 
from  the  room,  going  passively,  almost  meekly 
out,  led  by  that  little  child — I  could  not,  for  a 
time,  turn  my  thoughts  from  the  image  thereof ! 
And  then  thought  bore  me  to  the  wretched 
home,  back  to  which  the  gentle,  loving  child 
had  taken  her  father,  and  my  heart  grew  faint 
in  me  as  imagination  busied  itself  with  all  the 
misery  there. 

And  Willy  Hammond.    The  little  that  I  had 


NIGHT   THE   FIRST.  47 

heard  and  seen  of  him  greatly  interested  me  in 
his  favor.  Ah  !  upon  what  dangerous  ground 
was  he  treading.  How  many  pitfalls  awaited 
his  feet — how  near  they  were  to  the  brink  of  a 
fearful  precipice,  down  which  to  fall  was  certain 
destruction.  How  beautiful  had  been  his  life- 
promise  !  How  fair  the  opening  day  of  his 
existence !  Alas !  the  clouds  were  gathering 
already,  and  the  low  rumble  of  the  distant 
thunder  presaged  the  coming  of  a  fearful  tem 
pest.  Was  there  none  to  warn  him  of  the 
danger  ?  Alas !  all  might  now  come  too  late, 
for  so  few  who  enter  the  path  in  which  his 
steps  were  treading  will  hearken  to  friendly 
counsel,  or  heed  the  solemn  warning.  Where 
was  he  now  ?  This  question  recurred  over  and 
ever  again.  He  had  left  the  bar-room  with 
J  udge  Lyman  and  Green  early  in  the  evening, 
and  had  not  made  his  appearance  since.  Who 
and  what  was  Green  ?  And  Judge  Lyman,  was 
he  a  man  of  principle  ?  One  with  whom  it  was 
safe  to  trust  a  youth  like  Willy  Hammond  ? 


48  TEN    NIGHTS    IN    A    BAR-ROOM. 

While  I  mused  thus,  the  bar-room  door 
opened,  and  a  man  past  the  prime  of  life,  with 
a  somewhat  florid  face,  which  gave  a  strong 
relief  to  the  gray,  almost  white  hair  that,  suf 
fered  to  grow  freely,  was  pushed  back,  and  lay 
in  heavy  masses  on  his  coat  collar,  entered  with 
a  hasty  step.  He  was  almost  venerable  in 
appearance ;  yet  there  was  in  his  dark,  quick 
eyes  the  brightness  of  unquenched  loves,  the 
fires  of  which  were  kindled  at  the  altars  of 
selfishness  and  sensuality.  This  I  saw  at  a 
glance.  There  was  a  look  of  concern  on  his 
face,  as  he  threw  his  eyes  around  the  bar-room ; 
and  he  seemed  disappointed,  I  thought,  at  find 
ing  it  empty. 

"Is  Simon  Sladehere?" 

As  I  answered  in  the  negative,  Mrs.  Slade 
entered  through  the  door  that  opened  from  the 
yard,  and  stood  behind  the  counter. 

"  Ah,  Mrs.  Slade  !  Good-evening,  madam ! " 
he  said. 

"Good-evening,  Judge  Hammond." 


NIGHT   THE   FIRST.  4:9 

"  Is  your  husband  at  home  ? " 

"  I  believe  he  is,"  answered  Mrs.  Slade.  "  I 
think  he's  somewhere  about  the  house." 

"  Ask  him  to  step  here,  will  you  ? " 

Mrs.  Slade  went  out.  Nearly  five  minutes 
went  by,  during  which  time  Judge  Hammond 
paced  the  floor  of  the  bar-room  uneasily.  Then 
the  landlord  made  his  appearance.  The  free, 
open,  manly,  self-satisfied  expression  of  his 
countenance,  which  I  had  remarked  on  alight 
ing  from  the  stage  in  the  afternoon,  was  gone. 
I  noticed  at  once  the  change,  for  it  was  striking. 
He  did  not  look  steadily  into  the  face  of  Judge 
Hammond,  who  asked  him,  in  a  low  voice,  if 
his  son  had  been  there  during  the  evening. 

"  He  was  here,"  said  Slade. 

"When?" 

"  He  came  in  some  time  after  dark  and  stayed, 
maybe,  an  hour." 

"  And  hasn't  been  here  since  ? " 

"  It's  nearly  two  hours  since  he  left  the  bar 
room,"  replied  the  landlord. 


50  TEN   NIGHTS    IN    A    BAR-BOOM. 

Judge  Hammond  seemed  perplexed.  There 
was  a  degree  of  evasion  in  Slade's  manner  that 
he  could  hardly  help  noticing.  To  me  it  was 
all  apparent,  for  I  had  lively  suspicions  that 
made  my  observation  acute. 

Judge  Hammond  crossed  his  arms  behind  him, 
and  took  three  or  four  strides  about  the  floor. 

"  Was  Judge  Lyman  here  to-night  ? "  he  then 
asked. 

"  He  was,"  answered  Slade. 

"Did  he  and  Willy  go  out  together?" 

The  question  seemed  an  unexpected  one  for 
the  landlord.  Slade  appeared  slightly  con 
fused,  and  did  not  answer  promptly. 

"I — I  rather  think  they  did,"  he  said,  after 
a  brief  hesitation. 

"  Ah,  well !  Perhaps  he  is  at  Judge  Lyman's. 
I  will  call  over  there." 

And  Judge  Hammond  left  the  bar-room. 

"  Would  you  like  to  retire,  sir  ? "  said  the 
landlord,  now  turning  to  me,  with  a  forced 
smile — I  saw  that  it  was  forced. 


NIGHT   THE   FIRST.  51 

"  If  you  please,'7  I  answered. 

He  lit  a  candle  and  conducted  me  to  my 
room,  where,  overwearied  with  the  day's  exer 
tion,  I  soon  fell  asleep,  and  did  not  awake  until 
the  sun  was  shining  brightly  into  my  windows. 

I  remained  at  the  village  a  portion  of  the 
day,  but  saw  nothing  of  the  parties  in  whom 
the  incidents  of  the  previous  evening  had 
awakened  a  lively  interest.  At  four  o'clock  I 
left  in  the  stage,  and  did  not  visit  Cedarville 
again  for  a  year. 


52  TEN   NIGHTS    IN    A    BAR-ROOM. 


NIGHT    THE    SECOND. 

THE    CHANGES    OF   A   YEAB. 

A  CORDIAL  grasp  of  the  hand  and  a  few 
words  of  hearty  welcome  greeted  me  as 
I  alighted  from  the  stage  at  the  "Sickle  and 
Sheaf,"  on  my  next  visit  to  Cedarville.  At  the 
first  glance,  I  saw  no  change  in  the  counte 
nance,  manner,  or  general  bearing  of  Simon 
Slade,  the  landlord.  With  him,  the  year 
seemed  to  have  passed  like  a  pleasant  summer 
lay.  His  face  was  round,  and  full,  and  rosy, 
and  his  eyes  sparkled  with  that  good-humor 
which  flows  from  intense  self-satisfaction. 
Every  thing  about  him  seemed  to  say — "  All 
right  with  myself  and  the  world." 

I  had  scarcely  expected  this.  From  what  I 
saw  during  my  last  brief  sojourn  at  the  "Sickle 
and  Sheaf,"  the  inference  was  natural,  that  ele- 


1TTOHT  THE   SECOND.  53 

ments  had  been  called  into  activity,  which  must 
produce  changes  adverse  to  those  pleasant  states 
of  mind  that  threw  an  almost  perpetual  sun* 
shine  over  the  landlord's  countenance.  How 
many  hundreds  of  times  had  I  thought  of  Joe 
Morgan  and  Willy  Hammond — of  Frank,  and 
the  temptations  to  which  a  bar-room  exposed 
him.  The  heart  of  Slade  must,  indeed,  be  as 
hard  as  one  of  his  old  mill-stones,  if  he  could 
remain  an  unmoved  witness  of  the  corruption 
and  degradation  of  these. 

"  My  fears  have  outrun  the  actual  progress 
of  things,"  said  I  to  myself,  with  a  sense  of 
relief,  as  I  mused  alone  in  the  still  neatly  ar 
ranged  sitting-room,  after  the  landlord,  who  sat 
and  chatted  for  a  few  minutes,  had  left  me. 
"  There  is,  I  am  willing  to  believe,  a  basis  of 
good  in  this  man's  character,  which  has  led  him 
to  remove,  as  far  as  possible,  the  more  palpable 
evils  that  ever  attach  themselves  to  a  house  of 
public  entertainment.  He  had  but  entered  on 
the  business  last  year.  There  was  much  to  be 


54r  TEN    NIGHTS    IN    A   BAR-ROOM. 

learned,  pondered,  and  corrected.  Experience, 
I  doubt  not,  has  led  to  many  important  changes 
in  the  manner  of  conducting  the  establishment, 
and  especially  in  what  pertains  to  the  bar." 

As  I  thought  thus,  my  eyes  glanced  through 
the  half-open  door,  and  rested  on  the  face  of 
Simon  Slade.  He  was  standing  behind  his  bar 
— evidently  alone  in  the  room — with  his  head 
bent  in  a  musing  attitude.  At  first  I  was  in 
some  doubt  as  to  the  identity  of  the  singularly 
changed  countenance.  Two  deep  perpendicular 
seams  lay  sharply  defined  on  his  forehead — the 
arch  of  his  eyebrows  was  gone,  and  from  each 
corner  of  his  compressed  lips,  lines  were  seen 
reaching  half-way  to  the  chin.  Blending  with 
a  slightly  troubled  expression,  was  a  strongly 
marked  selfishness,  evidently  brooding  over  the 
consummation  of  its  purpose.  For  some  mo 
ments  I  sat  gazing  on  his  face,  half  doubting  at 
times  if  it  were  really  that  of  Simon  Slade. 
Suddenly,  a  gleam  flashed  over  it — an  ejacula 
tion  was  uttered,  and  one  clenched  hand  brought 


NIGHT   THE   SECOND.  55 

down,  with  a  sharp  stroke,  into  the  open  palm 
of  the  other.  The  landlord's  mind  had  reached 
a  conclusion,  and  was  resolved  upon  action. 
There  were  no  warm  rays  in  the  gleam  of  light 
that  irradiated  his  countenance — at  least  none 
for  my  heart,  which  felt  under  them  an  almost 
icy  coldness. 

"Just  the  man  I  was  thinking  about,"  I 
heard  the  landlord  say,  as  some  one  entered 
the  bar,  while  his  whole  manner  underwent  a 
sudden  change. 

"  The  old  saying  is  true,"  was  answered  in  a 
voice,  the  tones  of  which  were  familiar  to  my 
ears. 

"  Thinking  of  the  old  Harry  ? "  said  Slade. 

"  Yes." 

"  True,  literally,  in  the  present  case,"  I  heard 
the  landlord  remark,  though  in  a  much  lower 
tone ;  "  for,  if  you  are  not  the  devil  himself, 
you  can't  be  farther  removed  than  a  second 


cousin." 


A  low,  gurgling  laugh  met  this  little  sally. 


56  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAB-ROOM. 

There  was  something  in  it  so  unlike  a  human 
laugh,  that  it  caused  my  blood  to  trickle,  for  a 
moment,  coldly  along  my  veins. 

I  heard  nothing  more  except  the  murmur  of 
voices  in  the  bar,  for  a  hand  shut  the  partly 
opened  door  that  led  from  the  sitting-room. 

Whose  was  that  voice  ?  I  recalled  its  tones, 
and  tried  to  fix  in  my  thought  the  person 
to  whom  it  belonged,  but  was  unable  to  do 
so,  I  was  not  very  long  in  doubt,  for  on  step 
ping  out  upon  the  porch  in  front  of  the  tavern, 
the  well-remembered  face  of  Harvey  Green  pre 
sented  itself.  He  stood  in  the  bar-room  door, 
and  was  talking  earnestly  to  Slade,  whose  back 
was  toward  me.  I  saw  that  he  recognized  me, 
although  I  had  not  passed  a  word  with  him  on 
the  occasion  of  my  former  visit ;  and  there  was 
a  lighting  up  of  his  countenance  as  if  about  to 
speak — but  I  withdrew  my  eyes  from  his  face 
to  avoid  the  unwelcome  greeting.  When  I 
looked  at  him  again,  I  saw  that  he  was  regard 
ing  me  with  a  sinister  glance,  which  was  in- 


NIGHT   THE    SECOND.  57 

stantly  withdrawn.  In  what  broad,  black 
characters  was  the  word  TEMPTER  written  on 
his  face  !  How  was  it  possible  for  any  one  to 
look  thereon,  and  not  read  the  warning  in 
scription  ! 

Soon  after,  he  withdrew  into  the  bar-room, 
and  the  landlord  came  and  took  a  seat  near  me 
on  the  porch. 

"  How  is  the  Sickle  and  Sheaf  coming  on  ? '' 
I  inquired. 

" First-rate,"  was  the  answer — "First-rate." 

"  As  well  as  you  expected  ? " 

"Better." 

"  Satisfied  with  your  experiment  ? " 

"Perfectly.  Couldn't  get  me  back  to  the 
rumbling  old  mill  again,  if  you  were  to  make 
me  a  present  of  it." 

"  What  of  the  mill  ? "  I  asked.  "  How  does 
the  new  owner  come  on?" 

"  About  as  I  thought  it  would  be." 

"  Not  doing  very  well  ? " 

"  How  could  it  be  expected,  when  lie  didn't 


58  TEN    NIGHTS    IN    A    BAR-ROOM. 

know  enough  of  the  milling  business  to  grind 
a  bushel  of  wheat  right.  He  lost  half  of  the 
custom  I  transferred  to  him  in  less  than  three 
months.  Then  he  broke  his  main  shaft,  and  it 
took  over  three  weeks  to  get  in  a  new  one. 
Half  of  his  remaining  customers  discovered  by 
this  time,  that  they  could  get  far  better  meal 
from  their  grain  at  Harwood's  mill  near  Lyn 
wood,  and  so  did  not  care  to  trouble  him  any 
more.  The  upshot  of  the  whole  matter  is,  he 
broke  down  next,  and  had  to  sell  the  mill  at  a 
heavy  loss." 

"Who  has  it  now?" 
"  Judge  Hammond  is  the  purchaser." 
uHe  is  going  to  rent  it,  I  suppose?" 
"  No ;  I  believe  he  means  to  turn  it  into  some 
kind  of  a  factory-  -and,  I  rather  think,  will  con 
nect  therewith  a  distillery.   This  is  a  fine  grain- 
growing  country,  as  you  know.     If  he  does  set 
up  a  distillery,  he'll  make  a  fine  thing  of  it. 
Grain  has  been  too  low  in  this  section  for  some 
years;  this  all  the  farmers  have  felt,  and  they 


NIGHT   THE    SECOND.  59 

are  very  much  pleased  at  the  idea.  It  will  help 
them  wonderfully.  I  always  thought  my  mill 
a  great  thing  for  the  farmers ;  but  what  I  did 
for  them  was  a  mere  song  compared  to  the  ad 
vantage  of  an  extensive  distillery." 

"  Judge  Hammond  is  one  of  your  richest  men  ? " 

"  Yes — the  richest  in  the  county.  And  what 
is  more,  he's  a  shrewd,  far-seeing  man,  and 
knows  how  to  multiply  his  riches." 

"  How  is  his  son  Willy  coming  on  ? " 

"  Oh !  first-rate." 

The  landlord's  eyes  fell  under  the  searching 
look  I  bent  upon  him. 

"How  old  is  he  now?" 

"Just  twenty." 

"  A  critical  age,"  I  remarked. 

"  So  people  say ;  but  I  didn't  find  it  so,"  an 
swered  Slade,  a  little  distantly. 

"The  impulses  within  and  the  temptations 
without,  are  the  measure  of  its  dangers.  At 
his  age,  you  were,  no  doubt,  daily  employed  at 
hard  work." 


DO  TEN   NIGHTS    IN    A   BAR-ROOM. 

"  I  was,  and  no  mistake." 

"  Thousands  and  hundreds  of  thousands  are 
indebted  to  useful  work,  occupying  many 
hours  through  each  day,  and  leaving  them 
with  wearied  bodies  at  night,  for  their  safe 
passage  from  yielding  youth  to  firm,  resisting 
manhood.  It  might  not  be  with  you  as  it  is 
now,  had  leisure  and  freedom  to  go  in  and  out 
when  you  pleased  been  offered  at  the  age  of 
nineteen." 

"I  can't  tell  as  to  that,"  said  the  landlord, 
shrugging  his  shoulders.  "  But  I  don't  see  that 
Willy  Hammond  is  in  any  especial  danger.  He 
is  a  young  man  with  many  admirable  qualities 
— is  social — liberal — generous  almost  to  a  fault 
— but  has  good  common  sense,  and  wit  enough, 
I  take  it,  to  keep  out  of  harm's  way." 

A  man  passing  the  house  at  the  moment, 
gave  Simon  Slade  an  opportunity  to  break  off 
a  conversation  that  was  not,  I  could  see,  alto 
gether  agreeable.  As  he  left  me,  I  arose  and 
stepped  into  the  bar-room.  Frank,  the  land- 


NIGHT  THE   SECOND.  61 

lord's  son,  was  behind  the  bar.  He  had  grown 
considerably  in  the  year — and  from  a  rather 
delicate,  innocent-looking  boy,  to  a  stout,  bold 
lad.  His  face  was  rounder,  and  had  a  gross, 
sensual  expression,  that  showed  itself  particu 
larly  about  the  mouth.  The  man  Green  was 
standing  beside  the  bar  talking  to  him,  and  I 
noticed  that  Frank  laughed  heartily,  at  some 
low,  half  obscene  remarks  that  he  was  making. 
In  the  midst  of  these,  Flora,  the  sister  of  Frank, 
a  really  beautiful  girl,  came  in  to  get  something 
from  the  bar.  Green  spoke  to  her  familiarly, 
and  Flora  answered  him  with  a  perceptibly 
heightening  color. 

I  glanced  toward  Frank,  half  expecting  to  see 
an  indignant  flush  on  his  young  face.  But  no 
— he  looked  on  with  a  smile  !  "  Ah  ! "  thought 
I,  "  have  the  boy's  pure  impulses  so  soon  died 
out  in  this  fatal  atmosphere  ?  Can  he  bear  to 
see  those  evil  eyes — he  knows  they  are  evil — - 
rest  upon  the  face  of  his  sister  ?  or  to  hear  those 
lips,  only  a  moment  since  polluted  with  vile 


62  TEN    NIGHTS    IN    A    BAR-ROOM. 

words,  address  her  with  the  familiarity  of  a 
friend  ? " 

"  Fine  girl,  that  sister  of  yours,  Frank  !  Fine 
girl !  "  said  Green,  after  Flora  had  withdrawn 
—speaking  of  her  with  about  as  much  respect 
in  his  voice  as  if  he  were  praising  a  fleet  racer 
or  favorite  hound. 

The  boy  smiled,  with  a  pleased  air. 

"I  must  try  and  find  her  a  good  husband, 
Frank.  I  wonder  if  she  wouldn't  have  me  ? " 

"  You'd  better  ask  her,"  said  the  boy,  laughing. 

"  I  would,  if  I  thought  there  was  any  chance 
for  me." 

"Nothing  like  trying.  Faint  heart  never 
won  fair  lady,"  returned  Frank,  more  with  the 
air  of  a  man  than  a  boy.  How  fast  he  was 
growing  old  ! 

"  A  banter,  by  George ! "  exclaimed  Green, 
slapping  his  hands  together.  "  You're  a  great 
boy,  Frank !  a  great  boy  !  I  shall  have  to  talk 
to  your  father  about  you.  Coming  on  too  fast. 
Have  to  be  put  back  in  your  lessons — hey  !" 


NIGHT   THE   SECOND.  63 

And  Green  winked  at  the  boy,  and  shook  his 
finger  at  him.  Frank  laughed  in  a  pleased 
way,  as  he  replied : 

"Iguessrildo." 

"  I  guess  you  will,"  said  Green,  as,  satisfied 
with  his  colloquy,  he  turned  off  and  left  the 
bar-room. 

"Have  something  to  drink,  sir?"  inquired 
Frank,  addressing  me  in  a  bold,  free  way. 

I  shook  my  head. 

"  Here's  a  newspaper,"  he  added. 

I  took  the  paper  and  sat  down — not  to  read, 
but  to  observe.  Two  or  three  men  soon  came 
in,  and  spoke  in  a  very  familiar  way  to  Frank, 
who  was  presently  busy  setting  out  the  liquors 
they  had  called  for.  Their  conversation,  inter 
larded  with  much  that  was  profane  and  vulgar, 
was  of  horses,  horse-racing,  gunning,  and  the 
like,  to  all  of  which  the  young  bar-keeper  lent 
an  attentive  ear,  putting  in  a  word  now  and 
then,  and  showing  an  intelligence  in  such  mat 
ters  quite  beyond  his  age.  In  the  midst 


TEN  NIGHTS   IN   A  BAB-BOOM. 

thereof,  Mr.  Slade  made  his  appearance.  His 
presence  caused  a  marked  change  in  Frank,  who 
retired  from  his  place  among  the  men,  a  step 
or  two  outside  of  the  bar,  and  did  not  make  a 
remark  while  his  father  remained.  It  was  plain 
from  this,  that  Mr.  Slade  was  not  only  aware 
of  Frank's  dangerous  precocity,  but  had  already 
marked  his  forwardness  by  rebuke. 

So  far,  all  that  I  had  seen  and  heard  im 
pressed  me  unfavorably,  notwithstanding  the 
declaration  of  Simon  Slade,  that  every  thing 
about  the  "  Sickle  and  Sheaf "  was  coming  on 
"first-rate,"  and  that  he  was  "perfectly  satis 
fied  "  with  his  experiment.  Why,  even  if  the 
man  had  gained,  in  money,  fifty  thousand  dol 
lars  by  tavern-keeping  in  a  year,  he  had  lost  a 
jewel  in  the  innocence  of  his  boy  that  was  be 
yond  all  valuation.  "  Perfectly  satisfied  ?  " 
Impossible !  He  was  not  perfectly  satisfied. 
How  could  he  be?  The  look  thrown  upon 
Frank  when  he  entered  the  bar-room,  and  saw 
him  "  hane  fellow,  well  met,"  with  three  or  four 


NIGHT  THE   SECOND.  C5 

idle,  profane,  drinking  customers,  contradicted 
that  assertion. 

After  supper,  I  took  a  seat  in  the  bar-room, 
to  see  how  life  moved  on  in  that  place  of  ren 
dezvous  for  the  surface-population  of  Cedar- 
ville.  Interest  enough  in  the  characters  I  had 
met  there  a  year  before  remained  for  me  to 
choose  this  way  of  spending  the  time,  instead 
of  visiting  at  the  house  of  a  gentleman  who 
had  kindly  invited  me  to  pass  an  evening  with 
his  family. 

The  bar-room  custom,  I  soon  found,  had 
largely  increased  in  a  year.  It  now  required, 
for  a  good  part  of  the  time,  the  active  services 
of  both  the  landlord  and  his  son  to  meet  the 
calls  for  liquor.  What  pained  me  most,  was  to 
see  the  large  number  of  lads  and  young  men 
who  came  in  to  lounge  and  drink ;  and  there 
was  scarcely  one  of  them  whose  face  did  not 
show  marks  of  sensuality,  or  whose  language 
was  not  marred  by  obscenity,  profanity,  or  vul 
gar  slang.  The  subjects  of  conversation  were 


66  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-BOOM. 

varied  enough,  though  politics  was  the  most 
prominent.  In  regard  to  politics,  I  heard  noth 
ing  in  the  least  instructive ;  but  only  abuse  of 
individuals  and  dogmatism  on  public  measures. 
They  were  all  exceedingly  confident  in  asser 
tion  ;  but  I  listened  in  vain  for  exposition,  or 
even  for  demonstrative  facts.  He  who  assever 
ated  in  the  most  positive  manner,  and  swore 
the  hardest,  carried  the  day  in  the  petty  con 
tests. 

I  noticed,  early  in  the  evening,  and  at  a  time 
when  all  the  inmates  of  the  room  were  in  the 
best  possible  humor  with  themselves,  the  en 
trance  of  an  elderly  man,  on  whose  face  I  in 
stantly  read  a  deep  concern.  It  was  one  of 
those  mild,  yet  strongly  marked  faces,  that 
strike  you  at  a  glance.  The  forehead  was 
broad,  the  eyes  large  and  far  back  in  their 
sockets,  the  lips  full  but  firm.  You  saw  evi 
dences  of  a  strong,  but  well-balanced  character. 
As  he  came  in,  I  noticed  a  look  of  intelligence 
pass  from  one  to  another ;  and  then  the  eyes  otf 


NIGHT    THE    SECOND.  67 

two  or  three  were  fixed  upon  a  young  man  who 
was  seated  not  far  from  me,  with  his  back  to 
the  entrance,  playing  at  dominoes.  He  had  a 
glass  of  ale  by  his  side.  The  old  man  searched 
about  the  room  for  some  moments,  before  his 
glance  rested  upon  the  individual  I  have  men 
tioned.  My  eyes  were  full  upon  his  face,  as  he 
advanced  toward  him,  yet  unseen.  Upon  it 
was  not  a  sign  of  angry  excitement,  but  a  most 
touching  sorrow. 

"Edward!"  he  said,  as  he  laid  his  hand 
gently  on  the  young  man's  shoulder.  The  lat 
ter  started  at  the  voice,  and  crimsoned  deeply. 
A  few  moments  he  sat  irresolute. 

"  Edward,  my  son  ! "  It  would  have  been  a 
cold,  hard  heart  indeed  that  softened  not  under 
the  melting  tenderness  of  these  tones.  The 
call  was  irresistible,  and  obedience  a  necessity. 
The  powers  of  evil  had,  yet,  too  feeble  a  grasp 
on  the  young  man's  heart  to  hold  him  in  thrall. 
Rising  with  a  half -reluctant  manner,  and  with 
a  shamefacedness  that  it  was  impossible  to  con- 


DO  TEN    NIGHTS    IN    A    BAR-ROOM. 

ceal,  he  retired  as  quietly  as  possible.  The 
notice  of  only  a  few  in  the  bar-room  was  at 
tracted  by  the  incident. 

"  I  can  tell  you  what,"  I  heard  the  individual, 
with  whom  the  young  man  had  been  playing  at 
dominoes,  remark — himself  not  twenty  years  of 
age — "  if  my  old  man  were  to  make  a  fool  of 
himself  in  this  way — sneaking  around  after  me 
in  bar-rooms — he'd  get  only  his  trouble  for  his 
pains.  I'd  like  to  see  him  try  it,  though ! 
There'd  be  a  nice  time  of  it,  I  guess.  Wouldn't 
I  creep  off  with  him,  as  meek  as  a  lamb !  Hoi 
ho!" 

"Who  is  that  old  gentleman  who  came  in 
just  now  ? "  I  inquired  of  the  person  who  thus 
commented  on  the  incident  which  had  just  oc 
curred. 

"  Mr.  Hargrove  is  his  name." 

"  And  that  was  his  son  ? " 

"  Yes ;  and  I'm  only  sorry  he  doesn't  possess 
a  little  more  spirit" 

"Ho  wold  is  he?" 


NIGHT   THE   SECOND.  69 

"About  twenty." 

"Not  of  legal  age,  then?" 

"  He's  old'  enough  to  be  his  own  master." 

"  The  law  says  differently,"  I  suggested. 

In  answer,  the  young  man  cursed  the  law, 
snapping  his  fingers  in  its  imaginary  face  as  he 
did  so. 

"At  least  you  will    admit,"  said   I,  "that 
Edward  Hargrove,  in  the  use  of  a  liberty  to  go 
where  he  pleases,  and  do  what  he  pleases,  ex 
hibits  but  small  discretion." 

"I  will  admit  no  such  thing.  What  harm  is 
there,  I  would  like  to  know,  in  a  social  little 
game  such  as  we  were  playing  ?  There  were 
no  stakes — we  were  not  gambling." 

I  pointed  to  the  half-emptied  glass  of  ale  left 
by  young  Hargrove. 

"  Oh  !  oh  ! "  half  sneered,  half  laughed  a  man, 
twice  the  age  of  the  one  I  had  addressed,  who 
sat  near  by,  listening  to  our  conversation.  I 
looked  at  him  for  a  moment,  and  then  said : 

"The  great  danger  lies  there,  without  doubt. 


TO  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A    BAR-ROOM. 

If  it  were  only  a  glass  of  ale  and  a  game  of 
dominoes — but  it  doesn't  stop  there,  and  well 
the  young  man's  father  knows  it." 

"Perhaps  he  does,"  was  answered.  "I  re 
member  him  in  his  younger  days ;  and  a  pretty 
high  boy  he  was.  He  didn't  stop  at  a  glass  of 
ale  and  a  game  at  dominoes;  not  he!  I've 
seen  him  as  drunk  as  a  lord  many  a  time ;  and 
many  a  time  at  a  horse-race,  or  cock-fight,  bet 
ting  with  the  bravest.  I  was  only  a  boy, 
though  a  pretty  old  boy ;  but  I  can  tell  you, 
Hargrove  was  no  saint." 

"I  wonder  not,  then,  that  he  is  anxious  for 
his  son,"  was  my  remark.  "  He  knows  well  the 
lurking  dangers  in  the  path  he  seems  inclined 
to  enter." 

"  I  don't  see  that  they  have  done  him  much 
harm.  He  sowed  his  wild  oats — then  got  mar 
ried,  and  settled  down  into  a  good,  substantial 
citizen.  A  little  too  religious  and  pharisaical, 
I  always  thought ;  but  upright  in  his  dealings. 
He  had  his  pleasures  in  early  life,  as  was  befit* 


NIGHT   THE    SECOND.  Yl 

ting  the  season  of  youth — why  not  let  his  son 
taste  of  the  same  agreeable  fruit  ?  He's  wrong, 
sir — wrong !  And  I've  said  as  much  to  Ned. 
I  only  wish  the  boy  had  showed  the  right 
spunk  this  evening,  and  told  the  old  man  to  go 
home  about  his  business." 

"  So  do  I,"  chimed  in  the  young  disciple  in 
this  bad  school.  "  It's  what  I'd  say  to  my  old 
man,  in  double-quick  time,  if  he  was  to  come 
hunting  after  me." 

"  He  knows  better  than  to  do  that,"  said  the 
other,  in  a  way  that  let  me  deeper  into  the 
young  man's  character. 

u  Indeed  he  does.  He's  tried  his  hand  on  me 
once  or  twice  during  the  last  year,  but  found  it 
wouldn't  do,  no  how ;  Tom  Peters  is  out  of  his 
leading-strings." 

"  And  can  drink  his  glass  with  any  one,  and 
not  be  a  grain  the  worse  for  it." 

"  Exactly,  old  boy ! "  said  Peters,  slapping 
his  preceptor  on  the  knee.  "Exactly!  I'm 
not  one  of  your  weak-headed  ones.  Oh  no  ! " 


72  TEN   NIGHTS    IN    A   BAR-ROOM. 

"  Look  here,  Joe  Morgan  ! "•  —the  half -angry 
voice  of  Simon  Slade  now  rung  through  the 
bar-room, — "just  take  yourself  off  home  !" 

I  had  not  observed  the  entrance  of  this  per 
son.  He  was  standing  at  the  bar,  with  an 
emptied  glass  in  his  hand.  A  year  had  made 
no  improvement  in  his  appearance.  On  the 
contrary,  his  clothes  were  more  worn  and  tat 
tered  ;  his  countenance  more  sadly  marred. 
What  he  had  said  to  irritate  the  landlord,  I 
know  not ;  but  Blade's  face  was  fiery  with  pas 
sion,  and  his  eyes  glared  threateningly  at  the 
poor  besotted  one,  who  showed  not  the  least 
inclination  to  obey. 

"  Off  with  you,  I  say !  And  never  show 
your  face  here  again.  I  won't  have  such  low 
vagabonds  as  you  are  about  my  house.  If  you 
can't  keep  decent  and  stay  decent,  don't  intrude 
yourself  here." 

"  A  rum-seller  talk  of  decency !  "  retorted 
Morgan.  "  Pah !  You  were  a  decent  man 
once,  and  a  good  miller  into  the  bargain.  But 


IT'S  JOE  MORGAN'S  CHILD!    HE'S  KILLED  HER!    GOOD  HEAVENS!'* 


NIGHT   THE   SECOND.  73 

that  time's  past  and  gone.  Decency  died  out 
when  you  exchanged  the  pick  and  facing- 
hammer  for  the  glass  and  muddler.  Decency  ! 
Pah !  How  you  talk  !  As  if  it  were  any  more 
decent  to  sell  rum  than  to  drink  it." 

There  was  so  much  of  biting  contempt  in  the 
tones,  as  well  as  the  words  of  the  half-intoxi 
cated  man,  that  Slade,  who  had  himself  been 
drinking  rather  more  freely  than  usual,  was 
angered  beyond  self-control.  Catching  up  an 
empty  glass  from  the  counter,  he  hurled  it  with 
all  his  strength  at  the  head  of  Joe  Morgan. 
The  missive  just  grazed  one  of  his  temples,  and 
flew  by  on  its  dangerous  course.  The  quick 
sharp  cry  of  a  child  startled  the  air,  followed 
by  exclamations  of  alarm  and  horror  from 
many  voices. 

"It's  Joe  Morgan's  child!"  "He's  killed 
her!"  "Good  heavens!"  Such  were  the  ex 
clamations  that  rang  through  the  room.  I  was 
among  the  first  to  reach  the  spot  where  a  little 
girl,  just  gliding  in  through  the  door,  had  been 


74  TEN    NIGHTS    IN    A    BAR-ROOM. 

struck  on  the  forehead  by  the  glass,  which  had 
cut  a  deep  gash,  and  stunned  her  into  insensi 
bility.  The  blood  flowed  instantly  from  the 
wound,  and  covered  her  face,  which  presented 
a  shocking  appearance.  As  I  lifted  her  from 
the  floor,  upon  which  she  had  fallen,  Morgan, 
into  whose  very  soul  the  piercing  cry  of  his 
child  had  penetrated,  stood  by  my  side,  and 
grappled  his  arms  around  her  insensible  form, 
uttering  as  he  did  so  heart-touching  moans  and 
lamentations. 

"What's  the  matter?  Oh,  what's  the  mat 
ter?"  It  was  a  woman's  voice,  speaking  in 
frightened  tones. 

"  It's  nothing  !  Just  go  out,  will  you,  Ann  ?" 
I  heard  the  landlord  say. 

But  his  wife — it  was  Mrs,  Slade — having 
heard  the  shrieks  of  pain  and  terror  uttered  by 
Morgan's  child,  had  come  running  into  the  bar 
room — heeded  not  his  words,  but  pressed  for 
ward  into  the  little  group  that  stood  around 
the  bleeding  girl. 


NIGHT   THE    SECOND.  75 

"Run  for  Doctor  Green,  Frank,"  she  cried  in 
an  imperative  voice,  the  moment  her  eyes  rested 
on  the  little  one's  bloody  face. 

Frank  came  around  from  behind  the  bar,  in 
obedience  to  the  word ;  but  his  father  gave  a 
partial  countermand,  and  he  stood  still.  Upon 
observing  which,  his  mother  repeated  the  order, 
even  more  emphatically. 

"  Why  don't  you  jump,  you  young  rascal ! " 
exclaimed  Harvey  Green.  "The  child  may  be 
dead  before  the  doctor  can  get  here." 

Frank  hesitated  no  longer,  but  disappeared 
instantly  through  the  door. 

"  Poor,  poor  child  ! "  almost  sobbed  Mrs. 
Slade,  as  she  lifted  the  insensible  form  from 
my  arms.  "  How  did  it  happen  ?  Who  struck 
her?" 

"Who?  Curse  him!  Who  but  Simon  Slade?" 
answered  Joe  Morgan,  through  his  clenched 
teeth. 

The  look  of  anguish,  mingled  with  bitter  re 
proach,  instantly  thrown  upon  the  landlord  by 


70  TEN   NIGHTS    IN    A   BAB-ROOM. 

his  wife,  can  hardly  be  forgotten  by  any  who 
saw  it  that  night. 

"  Oh,  Simon  !  Simon !  And  has  it  come  to 
this  already  ? "  What  a  world  of  bitter  memo 
ries,  and  sad  forebodings  of  evil,  did  that  little 
sentence  express.  "To  this  already" — Ah! 
In  the  downward  way,  how  rapidly  the  steps 
do  tread — how  fast  the  progress ! 

"  Bring  me  a  basin  of  water,  and  a  towel, 
quickly  ! "  she  now  exclaimed. 

The  water  was  brought,  and  in  a  little  while 
the  face  of  the  child  lay  pure  and  white  as  snow 
against  her  bosom.  The  wound  from  which  the 
blood  had  flowed  so  freely  was  found  on  the 
upper  part  of  the  forehead,  a  little  to  the  side, 
and  extending  several  inches  back,  along  the  top 
of  the  head.  As  soon  as  the  blood  stains  were 
wiped  away,  and  the  effusion  partially  stopped, 
Mrs.  Slade  carried  the  still  insensible  body  into 
the  next  room,  whither  the  distressed,  and  now 
completely  sobered  father,  accompanied  her.  I 
went  with  them,  but  Slade  remained  behind. 


NIGHT  THE   SECOND.  77 

The  arrival  of  the  doctor  was  soon  followed 
by  the  restoration  of  life  to  the  inanimate  body. 
He  happened  to  be  at  home,  and  came  instant 
ly.  He  had  just  taken  the  last  stitch  in  the 
wound,  which  required  to  be  drawn  together, 
and  was  applying  strips  of  adhesive  plaster, 
when  the  hurried  entrance  of  some  one  caused 
me  to  look  up.  What  an  apparition  met  my 
eyes  !  A  woman  stood  in  the  door,  with  a  face 
in  which  maternal  anxiety  and  terror  blended 
fearfully.  Her  countenance  was  like  ashes — 
her  eyes  straining  wildly — her  lips  apart,  while 
the  panting  breath  almost  hissed  through  them. 

"Joe  !  Joe !  What  is  it  ?  Where  is  Mary  ? 
Is  she  dead  ? "  were  her  eager  inquiries. 

"  No,  Fanny,"  answered  Joe  Morgan,  starting 
up  from  where  he  was  actually  kneeling  by  the 
side  of  the  reviving  little  one,  and  going  quickly 
to  his  wife.  "She's  better  now.  It's  a  bad 
hurt,  but  the  doctor  says  it's  nothing  danger 
ous.  Poor,  dear  child  ! " 

The  pale  face  of  the  mother  grew  paler — she 


?8  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

gasped — caught  for  breath  two  or  three  times 
— a  low  shudder  ran  through  her  frame — and 
then  she  lay  white  and  pulseless  in  the  arms  of 
her  husband.  As  the  doctor  applied  restora 
tives,  I  had  opportunity  to  note  more  particu 
larly  the  appearance  of  Mrs.  Morgan.  Her 
person  was  very  slender,  and  her  face  so  atten 
uated  that  it  might  almost  be  called  shadowy. 
Her  hair,  which  was  a  rich  chestnut  brown, 
with  a  slight  golden  lustre,  had  fallen  from  her 
comb,  and  now  lay  all  over  her  neck  and  bosom 
in  beautiful  luxuriance.  Back  from  her  full 
temples  it  had  been  smoothed  away  by  the 
hand  of  Morgan,  that  all  the  while  moved  over 
her  brow  and  temples  with  a  caressing  motion 
that  I  saw  was  unconscious,  and  which  revealed 
the  tenderness  of  feeling  with  which,  debased 
as  he  was,  he  regarded  the  wife  of  his  youth, 
and  the  long  suffering  companion  of  his  later 
and  evil  days.  Her  dress  was  plain  and  coarse, 
but  clean  and  well  fitting ;  and  about  her  whole 
person  was  an  air  of  neatness  and  taste.  She 


NIGHT   THE    SECOND.  79 

could  not  now  be  called  beautiful ;  yet  in  her 
marred  features — marred  by  suffering  and  grief 
— were  many  lineaments  of  beauty ;  and  much 
that  told  of  a  pure,  true  woman's  heart  beating 
in  her  bosom.  Life  came  slowly  back  to  the 
stilled  heart,  and  it  was  nearly  half  an  hour 
before  the  circle  of  motion  was  fully  restored. 

Then,  the  twain,  with  their  child,  tenderly 
borne  in  the  arms  of  her  father,  went  sadly 
homeward,  leaving  more  than  one  heart  heavier 
for  their  visit. 

I  saw  more  of  the  landlord's  wife  on  this 
occasion  than  before.  She  had  acted  with  a 
promptness  and  humanity  that  impressed  me 
very  favorably.  It  was  plain,  from  her  excla 
mations  on  learning  that  her  husband's  hand 
inflicted  the  blow  that  came  so  near  destroying 
the  child's  life,  that  her  faith  for  good  in  the 
tavern  •  keeping  experiment  had  never  been 
strong.  I  had  already  inferred  as  much.  Her 
face,  the  few  times  I  had  seen  her,  wore  a 
troubled  look  ;  and  I  could  never  forget  its 


80  TEN    NIGHTS   IN    A   BAR-ROOM. 

expression,  nor  her  anxious,  warning  voice, 
when  she  discovered  Prank  sipping  the  dregs 
from  a  glass  in  the  bar-room. 

It  is  rarely,  I  believe,  that  wives  consent 
freely  to  the  opening  of  taverns  by  their  hus 
bands  ;  and  the  determination  on  the  part  of 
the  latter  to  do  so,  is  not  unfrequently  attended 
with  a  breach  of  confidence  and  good  feeling 
never  afterward  fully  healed.  Men  look  close 
to  the  money  result ;  women  to  the  moral  con 
sequences.  I  doubt  if  there  be  one  dram-seller 
in  ten,  between  whom  and  his  wife  there  exists 
a  good  understanding — to  say  nothing  of  gen 
uine  affection.  And,  in  the  exceptional  cases, 
it  will  generally  be  found  that  the  wife  is  as 
mercenary,  or  careless  of  the  public  good,  as 
her  husband.  I  have  known  some  women  to 
set  up  grog-shops;  but  they  were  women  of 
bad  principles  and  worse  hearts.  I  remember 
one  case,  where  a  woman,  with  a  sober,  church- 
going  husband,  opened  a  dram-shop.  The  hus 
band  opposed,  remonstrated,  begged,  threat- 


NIGHT   THE    SECOND.  81 

ened — but  all  to  no  purpose.  The  wife,  by 
working  for  the  clothing  stores,  had  earned  and 
saved  about  three  hundred  dollars.  The  love 
of  money,  in  the  slow  process  of  accumulation, 
had  been  awakened ;  and,  in  ministering  to  the 
depraved  appetites  of  men  who  loved  drink  and 
neglected  their  families,  she  saw  a  quicker  mode 
of  acquiring  the  gold  she  coveted.  And  so  the 
dram-shop  was  opened.  And  what  was  the  re 
sult  ?  The  husband  quit  going  to  church.  He 
had  no  heart  for  that ;  for,  even  on  the  Sabbath 
day,  the  fiery  stream  was  stayed  not  in  his  house. 
Next  he  began  to  tipple.  Soon,  alas  !  the  subtle 
poison  so  pervaded  his  system  that  morbid  de 
sire  came ;  and  then  he  moved  along  quick- 
footed  in  the  way  to  ruin.  In  less  than  three 
years,  I  think,  from  the  time  the  grog-shop  was 
opened  by  his  wife,  he  was  in  a  drunkard's 
grave.  A  year  or  two  more,  and  the  pit  that 
was  digged  for  others  by  the  hands  of  the  wife, 
she  fell  into  herself.  Ever  breathing  an  at 
mosphere  poisoned  by  the  fumes  of  liquor,  the 


82  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

love  of  tasting  it  was  gradually  formed,  and 
she  too,  in  the  end,  became  a  slave  to  the 
Demon  of  Drink.  She  died,  at  last,  poor  as  a 
beggar  in  the  street.  Ah !  this  liquor-selling 
is  the  way  to  ruin ;  and  they  who  open  the 
gates,  as  well  as  those  who  enter  the  downward 
path,  alike  go  to  destruction.  But  this  is  di 
gressing. 

After  Joe  Morgan  and  his  wife  left  the 
A  Sickle  and  Sheaf,"  with  that  gentle  child, 
who,  as  I  afterward  learned,  had  not,  for  a  year 
or  more,  laid  her  little  head  to  sleep  until  her 
father  returned  home — and  who,  if  he  stayed 
out  beyond  a  certain  hour,  would  go  for  him, 
and  lead  him  back,  a  very  angel  of  love  and 
patience — I  re-entered  the  bar-room,  to  see  how 
life  was  passing  there.  Not  one  of  all  I  had 
left  in  the  room  remained.  The  incident  which 
had  occurred  was  of  so  painful  a  nature,  that 
no  further  unalloyed  pleasure  was  to  be  had 
there  during  the  evening,  and  so  each  had  re 
tired.  In  his  little  kingdom  the  landlord  sat 


NIGHT   THE   SECOND.  83 

alone,  his  head  resting  on  his  hand,  and  his 
face  shaded  from  the  light.  The  whole  as 
pect  of  the  man  was  that  of  one  in  self- 
humiliation.  As  I  entered  he  raised  his  head, 
and  turned  his  face  toward  me.  Its  expression 
was  painful. 

"  Rather  an  unfortunate  affair,"  said  he.  "  I'm 
angry  with  myself,  and  sorry  for  the  poor  child. 
But  she'd  no  business  here.  As  for  Joe  Mor 
gan,  it  would  take  a  saint  to  bear  his  tongue 
when  once  set  a-going  by  liquor.  I  wish  he'd 
stay  away  from  the  house.  Nobody  wants  his 
company.  Oh,  dear ! " 

The  ejaculation,  or  rather  groan,  that  closed 
the  sentence  showed  how  little  Slade  was  satis 
fied  with  himself,  notwithstanding  this  feeble 
effort  at  self-justification. 

"  His  thirst  for  liquor  draws  him  hither,"  I 
remarked.  "  The  attraction  of  your  bar  to  his 
appetite  is  like  that  of  the  magnet  to  the  needle. 
He  cannot  stay  away." 

"He  must  stay  away!"  exclaimed  the  land- 


84:  TEN    NIGHTS    IN    A    BAR-KOOM. 

lord,  with  some  vehemence  of  tone,  striking  his 
fist  upon  the  table  by  which  he  sat.  "  He  must 
stay  away  !  There  is  scarcely  an  evening  that 
he  does  not  ruffle  my  temper,  and  mar  good 
feelings  in  all  the  company.  Just  see  what  he 
provoked  me  to  do  this  evening.  I  might 
have  killed  the  child.  It  makes  my  blood 
run  cold  to  think  of  it !  Yes,  sir — he  must 
stay  away.  If  no  better  can  be  done,  I'll 
hire  a  man  to  stand  at  the  door  and  keep 
him  out." 

"He  never  troubled  you  at  the  mill,"  said 
I.  "No  man  was  required  at  the  mill 
door?" 

"  No  ! "  And  the  landlord  gave  emphasis  to 
the  word  by  an  oath,  ejaculated  with  a  hearti 
ness  that  almost  startled  me.  I  had  not  heard 
him  swear  before.  "  No ;  the  great  trouble  was 
to  get  him  and  keep  him  there,  the  good-for- 
nothing,  idle  fellow ! " 

"I'm  afraid,"  I  ventured  to  suggest,  "that 
things  don't  go  on  quite  so  smoothly  here  as 


NIGHT  THE   SECOND.  85 

they  did  at  the  mill.  Your  customers  are  of  a 
different  class." 

"  I  don't  know  about  that ;  why  not  ?  "  He 
did  not  just  relish  my  remark. 

"  Between  quiet,  thrifty,  substantial  farmers, 
and  drinking  bar-room  loungers,  are  many  de 
grees  of  comparison." 

"  Excuse  me,  sir ! "  Simon  Slade  elevated 
his  person.  "  The  men  who  visit  my  bar-room, 
as  a  general  thing,  are  quite  as  respectable, 
moral,  and  substantial  as  any  who  came  to  the 
mill — and  I  believe  more  so.  The  first  people 
in  the  place,  sir,  are  to  be  found  here.  Judge 
Lyman  and  Judge  Hammond ;  Lawyer  Wilks 
and  Doctor  Maynard  ;  Mr.  Grand  and  Mr.  Lee ; 
and  dozens  of  others — all  our  first  people.  No, 
sir ;  you  mustn't  judge  all  by  vagabonds  like 
Joe  Morgan." 

There  was  a  testy  spirit  manifested  that  I 
did  not  care  to  provoke.  I  could  have  met 
his  assertion  with  facts  and  inferences  of  a 
character  to  startle  any  one  occupying  his 


86  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

position,  who  was  in  a  calm,  reflective  state; 
but  to  argue  with  him  then  would  have  been 
worse  than  idle ;  and  so  I  let  him  talk  on  until 
the  excitement  occasioned  by  my  words  died 
out  for  want  of  new  fuel. 


NIGHT   THE   THIRD.  87 


NIGHT    THE    THIKD. 


JOE  MORGAN'S  CHILD. 


"  T~  DON'T  see  any  thing  of  your  very  particu 
lar  friend,  Joe  Morgan,  this  evening,"  said 
Harvey  Green,  leaning  on  the  bar  and  speak 
ing  to  Slade.  It  was  the  night  succeeding  that 
on  which  the  painful  and  exciting  scene  with 
the  child  had  occurred. 

"No,"  was  answered — and  to  the  word  was 
added  a  profane  imprecation.  "No;  and  if 
he'll  just  keep  away  from  here,  he  may  go  to 

on  a  hard-trotting  horse  and  a  porcupine 

saddle  as  fast  as  he  pleases.  He's  tried  my  pa 
tience  beyond  endurance,  and  my  mind  is  made 
up,  that  he  gets  no  more  drams  at  this  bar. 
I've  borne  his  vile  tongue  and  seen  my  com 
pany  annoyed  by  him  just  as  long  as  I  mean 


88  TEN   NIGHTS   IN    A    BAR-ROOM. 

to  stand  it.  Last  night  decided  me.  Suppose 
I'd  killed  that  child?" 

"  You'd  have  had  trouble  then,  and  no  mis 
take." 

"Wouldn't  I?  Blast  her  little  picture! 
What  business  has  she  creeping  in  here  every 
night  ? " 

"  She  must  have  a  nice  kind  of  a  mother," 
remarked  Green,  with  a  cold  sneer. 

"  I  don't  know  what  she  is  now,"  said  Slade, 
a  slight  touch  of  feeling  in  his  voice — "  heart 
broken,  I  suppose.  I  couldn't  look  at  her  last 
night ;  it  made  me  sick.  But  there  was  a  time 
when  Fanny  Morgan  was  the  loveliest  and  best 
woman  in  Cedarville.  I'll  say  that  for  her. 
Oh,  dear  !  What  a  life  her  miserable  husband 
has  caused  her  to  lead." 

"Better  that  he  were  dead  and  out  of  the 
way." 

"  Better  a  thousand  times,"  answered  Slade. 
li  If  he'd  only  fall  down  some  night  and  break 
his  neck,  it  would  be  a  blessing  to  his  family." 


NIGHT   THE    THIRD.  89 

"  And  to  you  in  particular,"  laughed  Green. 

"You  may  be  sure  it  wouldn't  cost  me  a 
large  sum  for  mourning,"  was  the  unfeeling 
response. 

Let  us  leave  the  bar-room  of  the  "  Sickle  and 
Sheaf,"  and  its  cold-hearted  inmates,  and  look 
in  upon  the  family  of  Joe  Morgan,  and  see  how 
it  is  in  the  home  of  the  poor  inebriate.  We 
will  pass  by  a  quick  transition. 

"  Joe  !  "  The  thin  white  hand  of  Mrs.  Mor 
gan  clasps  the  arm  of  her  husband,  who  has 
arisen  up  suddenly,  and  now  stands  by  the 
partly  opened  door.  "Don't  go  out  to-night, 
Joe.  Please,  don't  go  out." 

"Father!"  A  feeble  voice  calls  from  the 
corner  of  an  old  settee,  where  little  Mary  lies 
with  her  head  bandaged. 

"  Well,  I  won't  then  ! "  is  replied — not  an 
grily,  nor  even  fretfully — but  in  a  kind  voice. 

"Come  and  sit  by  me,  father."  How  ten 
derly,  yet  how  full  of  concern  is  that  low,  sweet 
voice.  "  Come,  won't  you  ? " 


90  TEN  NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-EOOM. 

"Yes,  dear." 

"Now  hold  my  hand,  father." 

Joe  takes  the  hand  of  little  Mary,  that  in 
stantly  lightens  upon  his. 

"  You  won't  go  away  and  leave  me  to-night, 
will  you,  father?  Say  you  won't." 

"  How  very  hot  your  hand  is,  dear.  Does 
your  head  ache  ? " 

"  A  little ;  but  it  will  soon  feel  better." 

Up  into  the  swollen  and  disfigured  face  of 
the  fallen  father,  the  large,  earnest  blue  eyes 
of  the  child  are  raised.  She  does  not  see  the 
marred  lineaments ;  but  only  the  beloved  coun 
tenance  of  her  parent. 

"Dear  father!" 

"What,  love?" 

"  I  wish  you'd  promise  me  something." 

"What,  dear?" 

"  Will  you  promise  ? " 

"  I  can't  say  until  I  hear  your  request.  If  I 
can  promise,  I  will." 

"  Oh  !  you  can  promise — you  can,  father !  " 


NIGHT  THE   THIRD.  91 

How  the  large  blue  eyes  dance  and  sparkle ! 

"What  is  it,  love?" 

"That  you'll  never  go  into  Simon  Slade's 
bar  any  more." 

The  child  raises  herself,  evidently  with  a 
painful  effort ;  and  leans  nearer  to  her  father. 

Joe  shakes  his  head,  and  poor  Mary  drops 
back  upon  her  pillow  with  a  sigh.  Her  lids 
fall,  and  the  long  lashes  lie  strongly  relieved 
on  her  colorless  cheeks. 

"I  won't  go  there  to-night,  dear.  So  let  your 
heart  be  at  rest." 

Mary's  lids  unclose,  and  two  round  drops,  re 
leased  from  their  clasp,  glide  slowly  over  her  face. 

"Thank  you,  father — thank  you.  Mother 
will  be  so  glad." 

The  eyes  closed  again  ;  and  the  father  moved 
uneasily.  His  heart  is  touched.  There  is  a 
struggle  within  him.  It  is  on  his  lips  to  say 
that  he  will  never  drink  at  the  "Sickle  and 
Sheaf"  again;  but  resolution  just  lacks  the 
force  of  utterance. 


92  TEN    NIGHTS    IN    A    BAR-ROOM. 

"Father!" 

"Well,  dear?" 

"  I  don't  think  I'll  be  well  enough  to  go  out 
in  two  or  three  days.  You  know  the  doctor 
said  that  I  would  have  to  keep  very  still,  for  I 
had  a  great  deal  of  fever." 

"Yes,  poor  child." 

"  Now,  won't  you  promise  me  one  thing  ? " 

"What  is  it,  dear?" 

"  Not  to  go  out  in  the  evening  until  I  get 
well." 

Joe  Morgan  hesitated. 

"Just  promise  me  that,  father.  It  won't  be 
long ;  I  shall  be  up  again  in  a  little  while." 

How  well  the  father  knows  what  is  in  the 
heart  of  his  child.  Her  fears  are  all  for  him. 
Who  is  to  go  after  her  poor  father,  and  lead 
him  home  when  the  darkness  of  inebriety  is  on 
his  spirit,  and  external  perception  so  dulled  that 
not  skill  enough  remains  to  shun  the  harm  that 
lies  in  his  path  ? 

"  Do  promise  just  that,  father,  dear." 


NIGHT   THE   THIRD.  93 

He  cannot  resist  the  pleading  voice  and  look. 

"  I  promise  it,  Mary ;  so  shut  your  eyes  now 

and  go  to  sleep.      I'm   afraid  this  fever  will 


increase." 


"  Oh  !  I'm  so  glad— so  glad  ! " 

Mary  does  not  clasp  her  hands,  nor  show 
strong  external  signs  of  pleasure ;  but  how  full 
of  a  pure,  unselfish  joy  is  that  low-murmured 
ejaculation,  spoken  in  the  depths  of  her  spirit, 
as  well  as  syllabled  by  her  tongue  ! 

Mrs.  Morgan  has  been  no  unconcerned  witness 
of  all  this ;  but  knowing  the  child's  influence  over 
her  father,  she  has  not  ventured  a  word.  More 
was  to  be  gained,  she  was  sure,  by  silence  on 
her  part ;  and  so  she  has  kept  silent.  Now  she 
comes  nearer  to  them,  and  says,  as  she  lets  a 
hand  rest  on  the  shoulder  of  her  husband : 

"  You  feel  better  for  that  promise  already ; 
I  know  you  do." 

He  looks  up  to  her,  and  smiles  faintly.  He 
does  feel  better,  but  is  hardly  willing  to 
acknowledge  it. 


94  TEN   NIGHTS   IN    A   BAR-ROOM. 

Soon  after  Mary  is  sleeping.  It  does  not 
escape  the  observation  of  Mrs.  Morgan  that  her 
husband  grows  restless;  for  he  gets  up  suddenly, 
every  now  and  then,  and  walks  quickly  across 
the  room,  as  if  in  search  of  something.  Then 
sits  down,  listlessly — sighs — stretches  himself, 
and  says,  "  Oh,  dear  ! "  What  shall  she  do  for 
him?  How  is  the  want  of  his  accustomed 
evening  stimulus  to  be  met  ?  She  thinks,  and 
questions,  and  grieves  inwardly.  Poor  Joe 
Morgan !  His  wife  understands  his  case,  and 
pities  him  from  her  heart.  But  what  can  she 
do  ?  Go  out  and  get  him  something  to  drink  ? 
"  Oh,  no  !  no  !  no !  never  ! "  She  answered  the 
thought  audibly  almost,  in  the  excitement  of 
her  feelings.  An  hour  has  passed — Joe's  rest 
lessness  has  increased  instead  of  diminishing. 
What  is  to  be  done  ?  Now  Mrs.  Morgan  has 
left  the  room.  She  has  resolved  upon  some 
thing,  for  the  case  must  be  met.  Ah !  here  she 
comes,  after  an  absence  of  five  minutes,  bearing 
in  her  hand  a  cup  of  strong  coffee. 


NIGHT   THE   THIRD.  95 

"  It  was  kind  and  thoughtful  in  you,  Fanny," 
says  Morgan,  as  with  a  gratified  look  he  takes 
the  cup.  But  his  hand  trembles,  and  he  spills 
a  portion  of  the  contents  as  he  tries  to  raise  it 
to  his  lips.  How  dreadfully  his  nerves  are 
shattered !  Unnatural  stimulants  have  been 
applied  so  long,  that  all  true  vitality  seems 
lost. 

And  now  the  hand  of  his  wife  is  holding  the 
cup  to  his  lips,  and  he  drinks  eagerly. 

"  This  is  dreadful — dreadful !  Where  will  it 
end  ?  What  is  to  be  done  ? " 

Fanny  suppresses  a  sob,  as  she  thus  gives 
vent  to  her  troubled  feelings.  Twice,  already, 
has  her  husband  been  seized  with  the  drunk 
ard's  madness  ;  and,  in  the  nervous  prostration 
consequent  upon  even  a  brief  withdrawal  of  his 
usual  strong  stimulants,  she  sees  the  fearful  pre 
cursor  of  another  attack  of  this  dreadful  and 
dangerous  malady.  In  the  hope  of  supplying 
the  needed  tone  she  has  given  him  strong  cof 
fee  ;  and  this,  for  the  time,  produces  the  effect 


96  TEN   NIGHTS    IN    A   BAR-ROOM. 

desired.  The  restlessness  is  allayed,  and  a 
quiet  state  of  body  and  rnind  succeeds.  It 
needs  but  a  suggestion  to  induce  him  to  retire 
for  the  night.  After  being  a  few  minutes  in  bed, 
sleep  steals  over  him,  and  his  heavy  breathing 
tells  that  he  is  in  the  world  of  dreams. 

And  now  there  comes  a  tap  at  the  door. 

"  Come  in,"  is  answered. 

The  latch  is  lifted,  the  door  swings  open,  and 
a  woman  enters. 

"  Mrs.  Slade ! "  The  name  is  uttered  in  a 
tone  of  surprise. 

"  Fanny,  how  are  you  this  evening  ? "  Kind 
ly,  yet  half  sadly,  the  words  are  said. 

"Tolerable,  I  thank  you." 

The  hands  of  the  two  women  are  clasped, 
and  for  a  few  moments  they  gaze  into  each 
other's  face.  What  a  world  of  tender  commis 
eration  is  in  that  of  Mrs.  Slade  ! 

"  How  is  little  Mary  to-night  ? " 

"Not  so  well,  I'm  afraid.  She  has  a  good 
deal  of  fever." 


NIGHT    THE   THIRD.  97 

"  Indeed !  Oh,  I'm  sorry !  Poor  child  !  what 
a  dreadful  thing  it  was !  Oh !  Fanny !  you  don't 
know  how  it  has  troubled  me.  I've  been  in 
tending  to  come  around  all  day  to  see  how  she 
was,  but  couldn't  get  off  until  now." 

"  It  came  near  killing  her,"  said  Mrs.  Morgan. 

"It's  in  God's  mercy  she  escaped.  The 
thought  of  it  curdles  the  very  blood  in  my 
veins.  Poor  child  !  is  this  her  on  the  settee  ?  " 

"Yes." 

Mrs.  Slade  takes  a  chair,  and  sitting  by  the 
sleeping  child,  gazes  long  upon  her  pale  sweet 
face.  Now  the  lips  of  Mary  part — words  are 
murmured — what  is  she  saying? 

"No,  no,  mother;  I  can't  go  to  bed  yet. 
Father  isn't  home.  And  it's  so  dark.  There's 
no  one  to  lead  him  over  the  bridge.  I'm  not 
afraid.  Don't — don't  cry  so,  mother — I'm  not 
afraid  !  Nothing  will  hurt  me." 

The  child's  face  flushes.  She  moans,  and 
throws  her  arms  about  uneasily.  Hark  again. 

"  I  wish  Mr.  Slade  wouldn't  look  so  cross  at 


98  TEN    NIGHTS    IN    A   BAR-ROOM. 

me.  He  never  did  when  I  went  to  the  mill. 
He  doesn't  take  me  on  his  knee  now,  and  stroke 
my  hair.  Oh,  dear !  I  wish  father  wouldn't  go 
there  any  more.  Don't !  don't,  Mr.  Slade.  Oh  ! 
oh  ! " — the  ejaculation  prolonged  into  a  fright- 
ened  cry,  "  My  head  !v  my  head ! " 

A  few  choking  sobs  are  followed  by  low 
moans  ;  and  then  the  child  breathes  easily 
again.  But  the  flush  does  not  leave  her  cheek ; 
and  when  Mrs.  Slade,  from  whose  eyes  the 
tears  come  forth  drop  by  drop,  and  roll  down 
her  face,  touches  it  lightly,  she  finds  it  hot  with 
fever. 

"Has  the  doctor  seen  her  to-day,  Fanny?" 

"No,  ma'am." 

"  He  should  see  her  at  once.  I  will  go  for 
him ; "  and  Mrs.  Slade  starts  up  and  goes 
quickly  from  the  room.  In  a  little  while  she 
returns  with  Doctor  Green,  who  sits  down  and 
looks  at  the  child  for  some  moments  with  a 
sober,  thoughtful  face.  Then  he  lays  his  fin 
gers  on  her  pulse  and  times  its  beat  by  his 


NIGHT   THE   THIRD.  99 

watch  —  shakes  his  head,  and  looks  graver 
still 

"  How  long  has  she  had  fever  ? "  he  asks. 

"All  day." 

"  You  should  have  sent  for  me  earlier." 

"  Oh,  doctor  !  She  is  not  dangerous,  I  hope  I " 
Mrs.  Morgan  looks  frightened. 

"  She's  a  sick  child,  madam." 

"  You've  promised,  father." — The  dreamer  is 
speaking  again. — "I'm  not  well  enough  yet. 
Oh,  don't  go,  father;  don't!  There!  He's 
gone  !  Well,  well !  I'll  try  and  walk  there — 
I  can  sit  down  and  rest  by  the  way.  Oh,  dear ! 
How  tired  I  am  !  Father  !  Father ! " 

The  child  starts  up  and  looks  about  her 
wildly. 

"Oh,  mother,  is  it  you?"  And  she  sinks 
back  upon  her  pillow,  looking  now  inauiringl^ 
from  face  to  face. 

"Father — where  is  father?"  she  asks. 

"  Asleep,  dear." 

"Oh!     Is  he?    I'm  glad.17 


TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

Her  eyes  close  wearily. 
"Do  you  feel  any  pain,  Mary  ?  "  inquired  the 
doctor. 

"Yes,  sir — in  my  head.     It  aches  and  beats 


so." 


The  cry  of  "  Father  "  has  reached  the  ears  of 
Morgan,  who  is  sleeping  in  the  next  room,  and 
roused  him  into  consciousness.  He  knows  the 
doctor's  voice.  Why  is  he  here  at  this  late 
hour?  "Do  you  feel  any  pain,  Mary?"  The 
question  he  hears  distinctly,  and  the  faintly  ut 
tered  reply  also.  He  is  sober  enough  to  have 
all  his  fears  instantly  excited.  There  is  nothing 
in  the  world  that  he  loves  as  he  loves  that  child. 
And  so  he  gets  up  and  dresses  himself  as  quickly 
as  possible ;  the  stimulus  of  anxiety  giving  ten 
sion  to  his  relaxed  nerves. 

".Oh,  father  !"  The  quick  ears  of  Mary  de 
tect  his  entrance  first,  and  a  pleasant  smile  wel 
comes  him. 

"Is  she  very  sick,  doctor?"  he  asks,  in  a 
voice  full  of  anxiety. 


NIGHT  THE   THIRD.  101 

"  She's  a  sick  child,  sir ;  you  should  have  sent 
for  me  earlier."  The  doctor  speaks  rather 
sternly,  and  with  a  purpose  to  rebuke. 

The  reply  stirs  Morgan,  and  he  seems  to 
cower  half-timidly  under  the  words,  as  if  they 
were  blows.  Mary  has  already  grasped  her 
father's  hand,  and  holds  on  to  it  tightly. 

After  examining  the  case  a  little  more  close 
ly,  the  doctor  prepares  some  medicine,  and. 
promising  to  call  early  in  the  morning,  goes 
away.  Mrs.  Slade  follows  soon  after;  but,  in 
parting  with  Mrs.  Morgan,  leaves  something  in 
her  hand,  which,  to  the  surprise  of  the  latter, 
proves  to  be  a  ten-dollar  bill.  The  tears  start 
to  her  eyes ;  and  she  conceals  the  money  in  her 
bosom — murmuring  a  fervent  "  God  bless  her ! " 

A  simple  act  of  restitution  is  this  on  the  part 
of  Mrs.  Slade,  prompted  as  well  by  humanity 
as  a  sense  of  justice.  With  one  hand  her  hus 
band  has  taken  the  bread  from  the  family  of 
his  old  friend,  and  thus  with  the  other  she 
restores  it. 


102  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

And  now  Morgan  and  his  wife  are  alone  with 
their  sick  child.  Higher  the  fever  rises,  and 
partial  delirium  seizes  upon  her  over-excited 
brain.  She  talks  for  a  time  almost  incessantly. 
All  her  trouble  is  about  her  father ;  and  she  is 
constantly  referring  to  his  promise  not  to  go 
out  in  the  evening  until  she  gets  well.  How 
tenderly  and  touchingly  she  appeals  to  him; 
now  looking  up  into  his  face  in  partial  rec 
ognition  ;  and  now  calling  anxiously  after 
him,  as  if  he  had  left  her  and  was  going 
away. 

"You'll  not  forget  your  promise,  will  you, 
father  ? "  she  says,  speaking  so  calmly,  that  he 
thinks  her  mind  has  ceased  to  wander. 

"'No,  dear;  I  will  not  forget  it,"  he  answers, 
smoothing  her  hair  gently  with  his  hand. 

"  You'll  not  go  out  in  the  evening  again,  un 
til  I  get  well  2" 

"No,  dear." 

"Father!" 

"What,  love 2 w 


NIGHT    THE    THIRD.  103 

"Stoop  down  closer;  I  don't  want  mother 
to  hear ;  it  will  make  her  feel  so  bad." 

The  father  bends  his  ear  close  to  the  lips  of 
Mary.  How  he  starts  and  shudders !  What 
has  she  said  ? — only  these  brief  words : 

"  I  shall  not  get  well,  father ;  I'm.  going  to 
die." 

The  groans,  impossible  to  repress,  that  issued 
through  the  lips  of  Joe  Morgan,  startled  the 
ears  of  his  wife,  and  she  came  quickly  to  the 
bed-side. 

"What  is  it?  What  is  the  matter,  Joe?" 
she  inquired,  with  a  look  of  anxiety. 

"  Hush,  father.  Don't  tell  her.  I  only  said 
it  to  you."  And  Mary  put  a  finger  on  her  lips, 
and  looked  mysterious.  "  There,  mother — you 
go  away ;  you've  got  trouble  enough,  any  how. 
Don't  tell  her,  father." 

But  the  words,  which  came  to  him  like  a 
prophecy,  awoke  such  pangs  of  fear  and  re 
morse  in  the  heart  of  Joe  Morgan,  that  it  was 
impossible  for  him  to  repress  the  signs  of  pain. 


104  TEN   NIGHTS    IN    A   BAK-ROOM. 

For  some  moments  he  gazed  at  his  wife — then 
stooping  forward,  suddenly,  he  buried  his  face 
in  the  bed-clothes,  and  sobbed  bitterly. 

A  suggestion  of  the  truth  now  flashed  through 
the  mind  of  Mrs.  Morgan,  sending  a  thrill  of 
pain  along  every  nerve.  Ere  she  had  time  to 
recover  herself,  the  low,  s^weet  voice  of  Mary 
broke  upon  the  hushed  air  of  the  room,  and 
she  sung: 

"  Jesus  can  make  a  dying  bed 

Feel  soft  as  downy  pillows  are, 
While  on  His  breast  I  lean  my  head, 
And  breathe  my  life  out,  sweetly,  there." 

It  was  impossible  for  Mrs.  Morgan  longer  to 
repress  her  feelings.  As  the  softly  breathed 
strain  died  away,  her  sobs  broke  forth,  and  for 
a  time  she  wept  violently. 

"There,"  said  the  child,— "I  didn't  mean  to 
tell  you.  I  only  told  father,  because — because 
he  promised  not  to  go  to  the  tavern  any  more 
until  I  got  well ;  and  I'm  not  going  to  get  well. 
So,  you  see,  mother,  he'll  never  go  again — never 


NIGHT  THE  THIED.  105 

— never — never.  Oh,  dear !  how  my  head  pains. 
Mr.  Slade  threw  it  so  hard.  But  it  didn't  strike 
father ;  and  I'm  so  glad.  How  it  would  have 
hurt  him — poor  father!  But  he'll  never  go 
there  any  more;  and  that  will  be  so  good, 
won't  it,  mother?" 

A  light  broke  over  her  face ;  but  seeing  that 
her  mother  still  wept,  she  said : 

"  Don't  cry.     Maybe  I'll  be  better." 

And  then  her  eyes  closed  heavily,  and  she 
slept  again. 

"Joe,"  said  Mrs.  Morgan,  after  she  had  in  a 
measure  recovered  herself — she  spoke  firmly — 
"Joe,  did  you  hear  what  she  said  ? " 

Morgan  only  answered  with  a  groan. 

"  Her  mind  wanders  ;  and  yet  she  may  have 
spoken  only  the  truth." 

He  groaned  again. 

"  If  she  should  die,  Joe " 

"  Don't ;  oh,  don't  talk  so,  Fanny.  She's  not 
going  to  die.  It's  only  because  she's  a  little 
light-headed." 


106  TEN    NIGHTS    IN    A   BAR-ROOM. 

"Why  is  she  light-headed,  Joe  ? " 
"  It's  the  fever — only  the  fever,  Fanny." 
"It  was  the  blow,  and  the  wound  on  her 
head,  that  caused  the  fever.  How  do  we  know 
the  extent  of  injury  on  the  brain  ?  Doctor 
Green  looked  very  serious.  I'm  afraid,  hus 
band,  that  the  worst  is  before  us.  I've  borne 
and  suffered  a  great  deal — only  God  knows 
how  much — I  pray  that  I  may  have  strength 
to  bear  this  trial  also.  Dear  child  !  She  is 
better  fitted  for  heaven  than  for  earth,  and  it 
may  be  that  God  is  about  to  take  her  to  Him 
self.  She's  been  a  great  comfort  to  me — and 
to  you,  Joe,  more  like  a  guardian  angel  than  a 
child." 

Mrs.  Morgan  had  tried  to  speak  very  firmly ; 
but  as  sentence  followed  sentence,  her  voice 
lost  more  and  more  of  its  even  tone.  With  the 
closing  words  all  self-control  vanished ;  and  she 
wept  bitterly.  What  could  her  feeble  erring 
husband  do,  but  weep  with  her? 

"Joe," — Mrs.    Morgan    aroused    herself    as 


NIGHT   THE    THIRD.  10 7 

quickly  as  possible,  for  she  had  that  to  say 
which  she  feared  she  might  not  have  the  heart 
to  utter — "  Joe,  if  Mary  dies,  you  cannot  forget 
the  cause  of  her  death." 

"Oh,  Fanny  !  Fanny!" 

"Nor  the  hand  that  struck  the  cruel  blow." 

"  Forget  it  ?  Never  !  And  if  I  forgive  Simon 
Skde " 

"  Nor  the  place  where  the  blow  was  dealt," 
said  Mrs.  Morgan,  interrupting  him. 

"  Poor — poor  child  ! "  moaned  the  conscience- 
stricken  man. 

"  Nor  your  promise,  Joe — nor  your  promise 
given  to  our  dying  child." 

"  Father !  Father !  Dear  father  ! "  Mary's 
eyes  suddenly  unclosed,  as  she  called  her  father 
eagerly. 

"  Here  I  am,  love.  What  is  it  ? "  And  Joe 
Morgan  pressed  up  to  the  bed-side. 

"  Oh  !  it's  you,  father  !  I  dreamed  that  you 
had  gone  out,  and — and — but  you  won't,  will 
you,  dear  father  ? " 


108  TEN   NIGHTS    IN    A    BAR-ROOM. 

"No,  love — no." 

"  Never  any  more  until  I  get  well  ? " 

"I  must  go  out  to  work,  you  know,  Mary." 

"  At  night,  father.  That's  what  I  mean.  You 
won't,  will  you  ? " 

"  No,  dear,  no." 

A  soft  smile  trembled  over  the  child's  face ; 
her  eyelids  drooped  wearily,  and  she  fell  off 
into  slumber  again.  She  seemed  not  so  restless 
as  before — did  not  moan,  nor  throw  herself 
about  in  her  sleep. 

"  She's  better,  I  think,"  said  Morgan,  as  he 
bent  over  her,  and  listened  to  her  softer  breath 
ing. 

"It  seems  so,"  replied  his  wife.  "And  now, 
Joe,  you  must  go  to  bed  again.  I  wil)  lie  down 
here  with  Mary,  and  be  ready  to  do  any  thing 
for  her  that  she  may  want." 

"I  don't  feel  sleepy.  I'm  sure  I  ^iildn't 
close  my  eyes.  So  let  me  sit  up  with  Mary. 
You  are  tired  and  worn  out." 

Mrs.  Morgan  looked  earnestly  into  hei  bus- 


NIGHT   THE   THIRD.  109 

band's  face.  His  eyes  were  unusually  bright, 
and  she  noticed  a  slight  nervous  restlessness 
about  his  lips.  She  laid  one  of  her  hands  on 
his,  and  perceived  a  slight  tremor. 

"  You  must  go  to  bed,"  she  spoke  firmly.  "  I 
shall  not  let  you  sit  up  with  Mary.  So  go  at 
once."  And  she  drew  him  almost  by  force  into 
the  next  room. 

"  It's  no  use,  Fanny.  There's  not  a  wink  of 
sleep  in  my  eyes.  I  shall  lie  awake  anyhow. 
So  do  you  get  a  little  rest." 

Even  as  he  spoke  there  were  nervous  twitch- 
ings  of  his  arms  and  shoulders ;  and  as  he  en 
tered  the  chamber,  impelled  by  his  wife,  he 
stopped  suddenly  and  said : 

"What  is  that?" 

"  Where  ? "  asked  Mrs.  Morgan. 

"  Oh,  it's  nothing — I  see.  Only  one  of  my 
old  boots.  I  thought  it  a  great  black  cat." 

Oh !  what  a  shudder  of  despair  seized  upon 
the  heart  of  the  wretched  wife.  Too  well  she 
knew  the  fearful  signs  of  that  terrible  mad- 


110  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-KOOM. 

ness  from  which,  twice  before,  he  had  suffered. 
She  could  have  looked  on  calmly  and  seen  him 
die — but,  "Not  this — not  this  !  Oh,  Father  in 
heaven ! "  she  murmured,  with  such  a  heart- 
sinking  that  it  seemed  as  if  life  itself  would  go 
out. 

"  Get  into  bed,  Joe ;  get  into  bed  as  quickly 
as  possible." 

Morgan  was  now  passive  in  the  hands  of  his 
wife,  and  obeyed  her  almost  like  a  child.  He 
had  turned  down  the  bed-clothes,  and  was  about 
getting  in,  when  he  started  back,  with  a  look  of 
disgust  and  alarm. 

"There's  nothing  there,  Joe.  What's  the 
matter  with  you  ? " 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know,  Fanny,"  and  his 
teeth  rattled  together,  as  he  spoke.  "I thought 
there  was  a  great  toad  under  the  clothes." 

"How  foolish  you  are!" — yet  tears  were 
blinding  her  eyes  as  she  said  this.  "  It's  only 
fancy.  Get  into  bed  and  shut  your  eyes.  I'll 
make  you  another  cup  of  strong  coffee.  Per- 


NIGHT   THE   THIRD.  Ill 

haps  that  will  do  you  good.  You're  only  a 
little  nervous.  Mary's  sickness  has  disturbed 
you." 

Joe  looked  cautiously  under  the  bedclothes, 
as  he  lifted  them  up  still  farther,  and  peered 
beneath. 

"  You  know  there's  nothing  in  your  bed ; 
see ! " 

And  Mrs.  Morgan  threw,  with  a  single  jerk> 
all  the  clothes  upon  the  floor. 

"  There  now  !  look  for  yourself.  Now  shut 
your  eyes,"  she  continued,  as  she  spread  the 
sheet  and  quilt  over  him,  after  his  head  was  on 
the  pillow.  "  Shut  them  tight  and  keep  them 
so  until  I  boil  the  water  and  make  a  cup  of 
coffee.  You  know  as-  well  as  I  do  that  it's 
nothing  but  fancy." 

Morgan  closed  his  eyes  firmly,  and  drew  the 
clothes  over  his  head. 

"  I'll  be  back  in  a  very  few  minutes,"  said  his 
wife,  going  hurriedly  to  the  door.  Ere  leaving, 
however,  she  partly  turned  her  head  and  glanced 


TEN   NIGHTS    IN    A    BAB-BOOM. 

back.  There  sat  her  husband,  upright  and 
staring  fearfully. 

"Don't,  Fanny !  don't  go  away!"  he  cried, 
in  a  frightened  voice. 

"  Joe !  Joe  !  why  will  you  be  so  foolish  ?  It's 
nothing  but  imagination.  Now  do  lie  down 
and  shut  your  eyes.  Keep  them  shut.  There 


now." 


And  she  laid  a  hand  over  his  eyes,  and  pressed 
it  down  tightly. 

"  I  wish  Doctor  Green  was  here,"  said  the 
wretched  man.  "He  could  give  me  some* 
thing." 

"Shall  I  go  for  him?" 

"  Go,  Fanny !     Run  over  right  quickly." 

"  But  you  won't  keep  in  bed." 

"Yes,  I  will.  There  now."  And  he  drew 
the  clothes  over  his  face.  "  There ;  I'll  lie  just 
so  until  you  come  back.  Now  run,  Fanny,  and 
don't  stay  a  minute." 

Scarcely  stopping  to  think,  Mrs.  Morgan 
went  hurriedly  from  the  room,  and  drawing  an 


NIGHT  THE  THIRD.  113 

old  shawl  over  her  head,  started  with  swift  feet 
for  the  residence  of  Doctor  Green,  which  was 
not  very  far  away.  The  kind  doctor  under 
stood,  at  a  word,  the  sad  condition  of  her  hus 
band,  and  promised  to  attend  him  immediately. 
Back  she  flew  at  even  a  wilder  speed,  her  heart 
throbbing  with  vague  apprehension.  Oh  !  what 
a  fearful  cry  was  that  which  smote  her  ears  as 
she  came  within  a  few  paces  of  home.  She 
knew  the  voice,  changed  as  it  was  by  terror, 
and  a  shudder  almost  palsied  her  heart.  At 
a  single  bound  she  cleared  the  intervening 
space,  and  in  the  next  moment  was  in  the  room 
where  she  had  left  her  husband.  But  he  was 
not  there !  With  suspended  breath,  and  feet 
that  scarcely  obeyed  her  will,  she  passed  into 
the  chamber  where  little  Mary  lay.  Not  here ! 

"  Joe  !  husband  ! "  she  called  in  a  faint  voice. 

"Here  he  is,  mother."  And  now  she  saw 
that  Joe  had  crept  into  the  bed  behind  the  sick 
child,  and  that  her  arm  was  drawn  tightly  around 
his  neck. 


114  TEN    NIGHTS   IN    A    BAR-ROOM. 

"You  won't  let  them  hurt  me,  will  you, 
dear?"  said  the  poor,  frightened  victim  of  a 
terrible  mania. 

"Nothing  will  hurt  you,  father,"  answered 
Mary,  in  a  voice  that  showed  her  mind  to  be 
clear,  and  fully  conscious  of  her  parent's  true 
condition. 

She  had  seen  him  thus  before  Ah !  what 
an  experience  for  a  child  ! 

"You're  an  angel — my  good  angel,  Mary," 
he  murmured,  in  a  voice  yet  trembling  with 
fear.  "  Pray  for  me,  my  child.  Oh,  ask  your 
Father  in  heaven  to  save  me  from  these  dread 
ful  creatures.  There  now  ! "  he  cried,  rising  up 
suddenly,  and  looking  toward  the  door.  "  Keep 
out !  Go  away !  You  can't  come  in  here.  This 
is  Mary's  room ;  and  she's  an  angel.  Ah,  ha ! 
I  knew  you  wouldn't  dare  come  in  here — 

"  A  single  saint  can  put  to  flight, 
Ten  thousand  blustering  sons  of  night." 

He  added  in  a  half-wandering  way,  yet  with 
an  assured  voice,  as  he  laid  himself  back  upon 


NIGHT   THE   THIRD.  115 

his  pillow,  and  drew  the  clothes  over  Ins 
head. 

"  Poor  father  ! "  sighed  the  child,  as  she 
gathered  both  arms  about  his  neck.  "I  will 
be  your  good  angel.  Nothing  shall  hurt  you 
here." 

"  I  knew  I  would  be  safe  where  you  were," 
he  whispered  back — "  I  knew  it,  and  so  I  came. 
Kiss  me,  love." 

How  pure  and  fervent  was  the  kiss  laid  in 
stantly  upon  his  lips  !  There  was  a  power  in 
it  to  remand  the  evil  influences  that  were  sur 
rounding  and  pressing  in  upon  him  like  a  flood. 
All  was  quiet  now,  and  Mrs.  Morgan  neither 
by  word  nor  movement  disturbed  the  solemn 
stillness  that  reigned  in  the  apartment.  In  a 
few  minutes  the  deepened  breathing  of  her 
husband  gave  a  blessed  intimation  that  he  was 
sinking  into  sleep.  Oh,  sleep !  sleep !  How 
tearfully,  in  times  past,  had  she  prayed  that  he 
might  sleep ;  and  yet  no  sleep  came  for  hours 
and  days — even  though  powerful  opiates  were 


116  TEN  NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

given — until  exhausted  nature  yielded,  and 
then  sleep  had  a  long,  long  struggle  with 
death.  Now  the  sphere  of  his  loving,  innocent 
child  seemed  to  have  overcome,  at  least  for  the 
time,  the  evil  influences  that  were  getting  pos* 
session  even  of  his  external  senses.  Yes,  yes, 
he  was  sleeping  !  Oh,  what  a  fervent  "Thank 
God  ! "  went  up  from  the  heart  of  his  stricken 
wife. 

Soon  the  quick  ears  of  Mrs.  Morgan  detected 
the  doctor's  approaching  footsteps,  and  she  met 
him  at  the  door  with  a  finger  on  her  lips.  A 
whispered  word  or  two  explained  the  better 
aspect  of  affairs,  and  the  doctor  said,  encourag 
ingly  : 

"  That's  good,  if  he  will  only  sleep  on." 

"  Do  you  think  he  will,  doctor  ? "  was  asked 
anxiously. 

"  He  may.  But  we  cannot  hope  too  strongly. 
It  would  be  something  very  unusual." 

Both  passed  noiselessly  into  the  chamber. 
Morgan  still  slept,  and  by  his  deep  breathing 


NIGHT  THE  THIRD.  117 

it  was  plain  that  he  slept  soundly.  And  Mary, 
too,  was  sleeping,  her  face  now  laid  against  her 
father's,  and  her  arms  still  about  his  neck.  The 
sight  touched  even  the  doctor's  heart  and  mois 
tened  his  eyes.  For  nearly  half  an  hour  he  re 
mained  ;  and  then,  as  Morgan  continued  to  sleep, 
he  left  medicine  to  be  given  immediately,  and 
went  home,  promising  to  call  early  in  the 
morning. 

It  is  now  past  midnight,  and  we  leave  the 
lonely,  sad-hearted  watcher  with  her  sick  ones. 


I  was  sitting,  with  a  newspaper  in  my  hand 
—not  reading,  but  musing — at  the  "  Sickle  and 
Sheaf,"  late  in  the  evening  marked  by  the  inci 
dents  just  detailed. 

"Where's  your  mother?"  I  heard  Simon 
Slade  inquire.  He  had  just  entered  an  adjoin 
ing  room. 

"  She's  gone  out  somewhere,"  was  answered 
by  his  daughter  Flora. 


118  TEN    NIGHTS    IN    A    BAR-ROOM. 

"Where?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"  How  long  has  she  been  away  ? " 

"  More  than  an  hour." 

"  And  you  don't  know  where  she  went  to  \ " 

"No,  sir." 

Nothing  more  was  said,  but  I  heard  the  land 
lord's  heavy  feet  moving  backward  and  forward 
across  the  room  for  some  minutes. 

"  Why,  Ann !  where  have  you  been  ? "  The 
door  of  the  next  room  had  opened  and  shut. 

"Where  I  wish  you  had  been  with  me,"  was 
answered  in  a  very  firm  voice. 

"Where?" 

"To  Joe  Morgan's." 

"Humph!"  Only  this  ejaculation  met  my 
ears.  But  something  was  said  in  a  low  voice, 
to  which  Mrs.  Slade  replied  with  some  warmth : 

"  If  you  don't  have  his  child's  blood  clinging 
for  life  to  your  garments,  you  may  be  thank 
ful." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ? "  he  asked,  quickly. 


NIGHT   THE    THIRD.  119 

"  All  that  my  words  indicate.  Little  Mary 
is  very  ill ! " 

"Well,  what  of  it." 

"  Much.  The  doctor  thinks  her  in  great  dan 
ger.  The  cut  on  her  head  has  thrown  her  into 
a  violent  fever,  and  she  is  delirious.  Oh,  Simon  ! 
if  you  had  heard  what  I  heard  to-night." 

"  What  ? "  was  asked  in  a  growling  tone. 

"  She  is  out  of  her  mind,  as  I  said,  and  talks 
a  great  deal.  She  talked  about  you." 

"  Of  me !     Well,  what  had  she  to  say  ? " 

"  She  said — so  pitifully — '  I  wish  Mr.  Slade 
wouldn't  look  so  cross  at  me.  He  never  did 
when  I  went  to  the  mill.  He  doesn't  take  me 
on  his  knee  now,  and  stroke  my  hair.  Oh, 
dear ! '  Poor  child !  She  was  always  so 
good." 

"  Did  she  say  that  ? "    Slade  seemed  touched. 

"Yes,  and    a  great   deal  more.     Once   she 

screamed  out,  '  Oh,  don't !    don't,  Mr.  Slade ! 
don't !     My  head  !   my  head  ! '      It  made  my 

very  heart  ache.     I  can  never  forget  her  pale, 


120  TEN    NIGHTS    IN    A   BAB-ROOM. 

frightened  face,  nor  her  cry  of  fear.  Simon — 
if  she  should  die  ! " 

There  was  a  long  silence. 

"If  we  were  only  back  to  the  mill."  It  was 
Mrs.  Blade's  voice. 

"There,  now!  I  don't  want  to  hear  that 
again,"  quickly  spoke  out  the  landlord.  "I 
made  a  slave  of  myself  long  enough." 

"  You  had  at  least  a  clear  conscience,"  his 
wife  answered. 

"  Do  hush,  will  you  ? "  Slade  was  now  an 
gry.  "  One  would  think,  by  the  way  you  talk 
sometimes,  that  I  had  broken  every  command 
of  the  Decalogue." 

"  You  will  break  hearts  as  well  as  command 
ments,  if  you  keep  on  for  a  few  years  as  you 
have  begun — and  ruin  souls  as  well  as  fortunes." 

Mrs.  Slade  spoke  calmly,  but  with  marked 
severity  of  tone.  Her  husband  answered  with 
an  oath,  and  then  left  the  room,  banging  the 
door  after  him.  In  the  hush  that  followed  I 
retired  to  my  chamber,  and  lay  for  an  hour 


NIGHT  THB  THIRD.  121 

awake,  pondering  on  all  I  had  just  heard. 
What  a  revelation  was  in  that  brief  passage  of 
words  between  the  landlord  and  his  excited 
companion ! 


122  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAB-BOOM. 


NIGHT    THE    FOURTH. 

DEATH   OF   LITTLE   MARY  MORGAN. 

"TTTHERE  are  you  going,  Ann?"  It  was 
the  landlord's  voice.  Time — a  little 
after  dark. 

"I'm  going  over  to  see  Mrs.  Morgan,"  an 
swered  his  wife. 

"What  for?" 

"  I  wish  to  go,"  was  replied. 

"  Well,  /  don't  wish  you  to  go,"  said  Slade, 
in  a  very  decided  way. 

"  I  can't  help  that,  Simon.  Mary,  I'm  told, 
is  dying,  and  Joe  is  in  a  dreadful  way.  I'm 
needed  there — and  so  are  you,  as  to  that  mat 
ter.  There  was  a  time  when,  if  word  came 
to  you  that  Morgan  or  his  family  were  in 
trouble " 

"  Do  hush,  will  you ! "  exclaimed  the  land- 


NIGHT   THE   FOURTH.  123 

lord,  angrily.  "  I  won't  be  preached  to  in  this 
way  any  longer." 

"Oh,  well;  then  don't  interfere  with  my 
movements,  Simon ;  that's  all  I  have  to  say. 
I'm  needed  over  there,  as  I  just  said,  and  I'm 
going." 

There  were  considerable  odds  against  him, 
and  Slade,  perceiving  this,  turned  off,  mutter 
ing  something  that  his  wife  did  not  hear,  and 
she  went  on  her  way.  A  hurried  walk  brought 
her  to  the  wretched  home  of  the  poor  drunkard, 
whose  wife  met  her  at  the  door. 

"  How  is  Mary  ? "  was  the  visitor's  earnest 
inquiry. 

Mrs.  Morgan  tried  to  answer  the  question ; 
but,  though  her  lips  moved,  no  sounds  issued 
therefrom. 

Mrs.  Slade  pressed  her  hands  tightly  in  both 
of  hers ;  and  then  passed  in  with  her  to  the 
room  where  the  child  lay.  A  glance  sufficed 
to  tell  Mrs.  Slade  that  death  had  already  laid 
his  icy  fingers  upon  her  brow. 


TEN   NIGHTS    IN    A    BAR-KOOM. 

"How  are  you,  dear?"    she  asked,  as  she 
bent  over  and  kissed  her. 

"  Better,  I  thank  you ! "  replied  Mary,  in  a 
low  whisper. 

Then  she  fixed  her  eyes  upon  her  mother's 
face  with  a  look  of  inquiry. 

"  What  is  it,  love  ?" 

"  Hasn't  father  waked  up  yet  ?  " 

"No,  dear." 

"  Won't  he  wake  up  soon  ? " 

"He's  sleeping  very  soundly.  I  wouldn't 
like  to  disturb  him." 

"Oh,  no;  don't  disturb  him.  I  thought, 
maybe,  he  was  awake." 

And  the  child's  lids  drooped  languidly, 
until  the  long  lashes  lay  close  against  her 
cheeks. 

There  was  silence  for  a  little  while,  and  then 
Mrs.  Morgan  said  in  a  half -whisper  to  Mrs. 
Slade: 

"Oh,  we've  had  such  a  dreadful  time  with 
poor  Joe.  He  got  in  that  terrible  way  again 


NIGHT   THE    FOURTH.  125 

last  night.  I  had  to  go  for  Doctor  Green  and 
leave  him  all  alone.  When  I  came  back,  he 
was  in  bed  with  Mary ;  and  she,  dear  child ! 
had  her  arms  around  his  neck,  and  was  trying 
to  comfort  him ;  and  would  you  believe  it,  he 
went  off  to  sleep,  and  slept  in  that  way  for  a  long 
time.  The  doctor  came,  and  when  he  saw  how 
it  was,  left  some  medicine  for  him,  and  went 
away.  I  was  in  such  hopes  that  he  would 
sleep  it  all  off.  But  about  twelve  o'clock  he 
started  up,  and  sprung  out  of  bed  with  an 
awful  scream.  Poor  Mary !  she  too  had  fallen 
asleep.  The  cry  wakened  her,  and  frightened 
her  dreadfully.  She's  been  getting  worse  ever 
since,  Mrs.  Slade. 

"Just  as  he  was  rushing  out  of  the  room,  I 
caught  him  by  the  arm,  and  it  took  all  my 
strength  to  hold  him. 

" '  Father !  father ! '  Mary  called  after  him, 
as  soon  as  she  was  awake  enough  to  understand 
what  was  the  matter — ' Don't  go  out,  father; 
there's  nothing  here.' 


126  TEN   NIGHTS    IN    A   BAR-KOOM. 

"  He  looked  back  toward  the  bed,  in  a  fright 
ful  way. 

" l  See,  father ! '  and  the  dear  child  turned 
down  the  quilt  and  sheet,  in  order  to  convince 
him  that  nothing  was  in  the  bed.  '  I'm  here,' 
she  added.  '  I'm  not  afraid.  Come,  father.  If 
there's  nothing  here  to  hurt  me,  there's  nothing 
to  hurt  you.' 

"There  was  something  so  assuring  in  this, 
that  Joe  took  a  step  or  two  toward  the  bed, 
looking  sharply  into  it  as  he  did  so.  From 
the  bed  his  eyes  wandered  up  to  the  ceiling, 
and  the  old  look  of  terror  came  into  his  face. 

"  '  There  it  is  now !  Jump  out  of  bed,  quick ! 
Jump  out,  Mary  ! '  he  cried.  '  See  !  it's  right 
over  your  head.' 

"  Mary  showed  no  sign  of  fear  as  she  lifted 
her  eyes  to  the  ceiling,  and  gazed  steadily  for 
a  few  moments  in  that  direction. 

"'  There's  nothing  there,  father,'  said  she,  in 
a  confident  voice. 

"  *  It's  gone  now,'  Joe  spoke  in  a  tone  of  re- 


1  THERE  IT  is  NOW!    JUMP!    OUT  OF  BED,  QUICK !    JUMP  OUT,  MARY ! 
SEE!  IT'S  BIGHT  OVER  YOUR  HEAD!" 


NIGHT   THE   FOURTH.  12? 

lief.  4  Your  angel-look  drove  it  away.  Aha ! 
There  it  is  now,  creeping  along  the  floor ! 7  he 
suddenly  exclaimed,  fearfully;  starting  away 
from  where  he  stood. 

" '  Here,  father  !  Here  ! '  Mary  called  to 
him,  and  he  sprung  into  the  bed  again ;  while 
she  gathered  her  arms  about  him  tightly,  say 
ing  in  a  low,  soothing  voice,  '  Nothing  can 
harm  you  here,  father.' 

"  Without  a  moment's  delay,  I  gave  him  the 
morphine  left  by  Doctor  Green.  He  took  it 
eagerly,  and  then  crouched  down  in  the  bed, 
while  Mary  continued  to  assure  him  of  perfect 
safety.  So  long  as  he  was  clearly  conscious  as 
to  where  he  was,  he  remained  perfectly  still. 
But,  as  soon  as  partial  slumber  came,  he  would 
scream  out,  and  spring  from  the  bed  in  terror 
and  then  it  would  take  us  several  minutes  to 
quiet  him  again.  Six  times  during  the  night 
did  this  occur ;  and  as  often,  Mary  coaxed  him 
back.  The  morphine  I  continued  to  give  as 
the  doctor  had  directed.  By  morning,  the  opi- 


128  TEN  NIGHTS   IN   A   BAB-BOOM. 

ates  had  done  their  work,  and  he  was  sleeping 
soundly.  When  the  doctor  came,  we  removed 
him  to  his  own  bed.  He  is  still  asleep ;  and  I 
begin  to  feel  uneasy,  lest  he  should  never 
awake  again.  I  have  heard  of  this  happen 
ing." 

"  See  if  father  isn't  awake,"  said  Mary,  rais 
ing  her  head  from  the  pillow.  She  had  not 
heard  what  passed  between  her  mother  and 
Mrs.  Slade,  for  the  conversation  was  carried  on 
in  low  voices. 

Mrs.  Morgan  stepped  to  the  door,  and  looked 
into  the  room  where  her  husband  lay. 

"He  is  still  asleep,  dear,"  she  remarked, 
coming  back  to  the  bed. 

"  Oh  !  I  wish  he  was  awake.  I  want  to  see 
him  so  much.  Won't  you  call  him,  mother  ? " 

"  I  have  called  him  a  good  many  times.  But 
you  know  the  doctor  gave  him  opium.  He 
can't  wake  up  yet." 

"  He's  been  sleeping  a  very  long  time ;  don't 
you  think  so,  mother?" 


NIGHT  THE  FOUBTH.  129 

"  Yes,  dear,  it  does  seem  a  long  time.  But 
'A  is  best  for  him.  He'll  be  better  when  he 
wakes." 

Mary  closed  her  eyes,  wearily.  How  deathly 
white  was  her  face — how  sunken  her  eyes — 
how  sharply  contracted  her  features  ! 

"IVe  given  her  up,  Mrs.  Slade,"  said  Mrs. 
Morgan,  in  a  low,  rough,  choking  whisper,  as 
she  leaned  nearer  to  her  friend.  "I've  given 
her  up  !  The  worst  is  over ;  but,  oh !  it  seemed 
as  though  my  heart  would  break  in  the  strug 
gle.  Dear  child !  In  all  the  darkness  of  my 
way,  she  has  helped  and  comforted  me.  With 
out  her,  it  would  have  been  the  blackness  of 
darkness." 

"  Father !  father ! "  The  voice  of  Mary  broke 
out  with  a  startling  quickness. 

Mrs.  Morgan  turned  to  the  bed,  and  laying 
her  hand  on  Mary's  arm  said: 

"  He's  still  sound  asleep,  dear." 

"No,  he  isn't,  mother.  I  heard  him  move. 
Won't  you  go  in  and  see  if  he  is  awake  ? " 


130  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

In  order  to  satisfy  the  child,  her  mother  left 
the  room.  To  her  surprise,  she  met  the  eyes 
of  her  husband  as  she  entered  the  chamber 
where  he  lay.  He  looked  at  her  calmly. 

"What  does  Mary  want  with  me?"  hs 
asked. 

"She  wishes  to  see  you.  She's  called  you 
so  many,  many  times.  Shall  I  bring  her  in 
here?" 

"  No.     I'll  get  up  and  dress  myself." 

"  I  wouldn't  do  that.     You've  been  sick." 

"  Oh,  no.     I  don't  feel  sick." 

"  Father  !  father  ! "  The  clear,  earnest  voice 
of  Mary  was  heard  calling. 

"  I'm  coming,  dear,"  answered  Morgan. 

"  Come  quick,  father,  won't  you  ? " 

"Yes,  love."  And  Morgan  got  up  and 
dressed  himself — but  with  unsteady  hands,  and 
every  sign  of  nervous  prostration.  In  a  little 
while,  with  the  assistance  of  his  wife,  he  was 
ready,  and  supported  by  her,  came  tottering  in 
to  the  room  where  Mary  was  lying. 


NIGHT    THE    FOUKTH.  131 

"  Oh,  father ! " — What  a  light  broke  over  her 
countenance. — "I've  been  waiting  for  you  so 
long.  I  thought  you  were  never  going  to  wake 
up.  Kiss  me,  father." 

"What  can  I  do  for  you,  Mary?"  asked 
Morgan,  tenderly,  as  he  laid  his  face  down  upon 
the  pillow  beside  her. 

"  Nothing,  father.  I  don't  wish  for  anything. 
I  only  wanted  to  see  you." 

"  I'm  here,  now,  love." 

"  Dear  father ! "  How  earnestly,  yet  ten 
derly  she  spoke,  laying  her  small  hand  upon 
his  face.  "You've  always  been  good  to  me, 
father." 

"  Oh,  no.  I've  never  been  good  to  anybody," 
sobbed  the  weak,  broken-spirited  man,  as  he 
raised  himself  from  the  pillow. 

How  deeply  touched  was  Mrs.  Slade,  as  she 
sat,  the  silent  witness  of  this  scene ! 

"  You  haven't  been  good  to  yourself,  father — 
but  you've  always  been  good  to  us." 

"  Don't,   Mary !    don't   say  anything  about 


132  TEN  NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

that,"  interrupted  Morgan.  "Say  that  IVe 
been  very  bad — very  wicked.  Oh,  Mary,  dear  ! 
I  only  wish  that  I  was  as  good  as  you  are ;  I'd 
like  to  die,  then,  and  go  right  away  from  this 
evil  world.  I  wish  there  was  no  liquor  to 
drink — no  taverns — no  bar-rooms.  Oh  dear ! 
Oh  dear  !  I  wish  I  was  dead." 

And  the  weak,  trembling,  half-palsied  man 
laid  his  face  again  upon  the  pillow  beside  his 
child,  and  sobbed  aloud. 

What  an  oppressive  silence  reigned  for  a 
time  through  the  room  ! 

"  Father."  The  stillness  was  broken  by  Mary. 
Her  voice  was  clear  and  even.  "  Father,  I  want 
to  tell  you  something." 

"  What  is  it,  Mary  ? " 

"  There'll  be  nobody  to  go  for  you,  father." 
The  child's  lips  now  quivered,  and  tears  filled 
into  her  eyes. 

"  Don't  talk  about  that,  Mary.  I'm  not  going 
out  in  the  evening  any  more  until  you  get  well. 
Don't  you  remember  I  promised  ? " 


NIGHT   THE   FOUTRH.  133 

"But,  father"— She  hesitated. 

"What,  dear?" 

"  I'm  going  away  to  leave  you  and  mother." 

"  Oh,  no — no — no,  Mary  !  Don't  say  that." 
—The  poor  man's  voice  was  broken. — "  Don't 
say  that !  We  can't  let  you  go,  dear." 

"  God  has  called  me."  The  child's  voice  had 
a  solemn  tone,  and  her  eyes  turned  reverently 
upward. 

"  I  wish  he  would  call  me !  Oh,  I  wish  he 
would  call  me ! "  groaned  Morgan,  hiding  his 
face  in  his  hands.  "  What  shall  I  do  when  you 
are  gone  ?  Oh,  dear !  Oh,  dear ! " 

"  Father !  "  Mary  spoke  calmly  again.  u  You 
are  not  ready  to  go  yet.  God  will  let  you  live 
here  longer,  that  you  may  get  ready." 

"  How  can  I  get  ready  without  you  to  help 
me,  Mary  ?  My  angel  child  ! " 

"  Haven't  I  tried  to  help  you,  father,  oh,  so 
many  times  ?  "  said  Mary. 

"  Yes^-yes — you've  always  tried." 

"  But  it  wasn't  any  use.     You  would  go  out 


134  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAK-KOOM. 

— you  would  go  to  the  tavern.  It  seemed  al 
most  as  if  you  couldn't  help  it." 

Morgan  groaned  in  spirit. 

"  Maybe  I  can  help  you  better,  father,  after 
I  die.  I  love  you  so  much,  that  I  am  sure  God 
will  let  me  come  to  you,  and  stay  with  you  al 
ways,  and  be  your  angel.  Don't  you  think  he 
will,  mother  ? " 

But  Mrs.  Morgan's  heart  was  too  full.  She 
did  not  even  try  to  answer,  but  sat,  with  stream 
ing  eyes,  gazing  upon  her  child's  face. 

"Father,  I  dreamed  something  about  you, 
while  I  slept  to-day."  Mary  again  turned  to 
her  father. 

"  What  was  it,  dear  ? " 

"  I  thought  it  was  night,  and  that  I  was  still 
sick.  You  promised  not  to  go  out  again  until 
I  was  well.  But  you  did  go  out ;  and  I  thought 
you  went  over  to  Mr.  Slade's  tavern.  When  I 
knew  this,  I  felt  as  strong  as  when  I  was  well, 
and  I  got  up  and  dressed  myself,  and  started 
out  after  you.  But  I  hadn't  gone  far,  before  I 


NIGHT   THE   FOURTH.  135 

met  Mr.  Blade's  great  bull-dog,  Nero,  and  lie 
growled  at  me  so  dreadfully  that  I  was  fright 
ened  and  ran  back  home.  Then  I  started  again, 
and  went  away  round  by  Mr.  Mason's.  But 
there  was  Nero  in  the  road,  and  this  time  he 
caught  my  dress  in  his  mouth  and  tore  a  great 
piece  out  of  the  skirt.  I  ran  back  again,  and 
he  chased  me  all  the  way  home.  Just  as  I  got 
to  the  door,  I  looked  around,  and  there  was 
Mr.  Slade,  setting  Nero  on  me.  As  soon  as  I 
saw  Mr.  Slade,  though  he  looked  at  me  very 
wicked,  I  lost  all  my  fear,  and  turning  around, 
I  walked  past  Nero,  who  showed  his  teeth,  and 
growled  as  fiercely  as  ever,  but  didn't  touch  me. 
Then  Mr.  Slade  tried  to  stop  me.  Put  I  didn't 
mind  him,  and  kept  right  on,  until  I  came  to 
the  tavern,  and  there  you  stood  in  the  door. 
And  you  were  dressed  so  nice.  You  had  on  a 
new  hat  and  a  new  coat ;  and  your  boots  were 
new,  and  polished  just  like  Judge  Hammond's. 
I  said :  l  O  father  !  is  this  you  ? '  And  then 
you  took  me  up  in  your  arms  and  kissed  me, 


136  TEN   NIGHTS    IN    A   BAR-ROOM. 

and  said :  l  Yes,  Mary,  I  am  your  real  father. 
Not  old  Joe  Morgan — but  Mr.  Morgan  now.' 
It  seemed  all  so  strange,  that  I  looked  into  the 
bar-room  to  see  who  was  there.  But  it  wasn't 
a  bar-room  any  longer;  but  a  store  full  of 
goods.  The  sign  of  the  Sickle  and  Sheaf  was 
taken  down ;  and  over  the  door  I  now  read 
your  name,  father.  Oh  !  I  was  so  glad,  that  I 
awoke — and  then  I  cried  all  to  myself,  for  it 
was  only  a  dream." 

The  last  words  were  said  very  mournfully, 
and  with  a  drooping  of  Mary's  lids,  until  the 
tear-gemmed  lashes  lay  close  upon  her  cheeks. 
Another  period  of  deep  silence  followed — for 
the  oppressed  listeners  gave  no  utterance  to 
what  was  in  their  hearts.  Feeling  was  too 
strong  for  speech.  Nearly  five  minutes  glided 
away,  and  then  Mary  whispered  the  name  of 
her  father,  but  without  opening  her  eyes. 

Morgan  answered,  and  bent  down  his 
ear. 

"  You  will  only  have  mother  left,"  she  said 


NIGHT  THE   FOURTH.  137 

— "only  mother.    And  she  cries  so  much  when 
you  are  away." 

"  I  won't  leave  her,  Mary,  only  when  I  go  to 
work,"  said  Morgan,  whispering  back  to  the 
child.  "And  111  never  go  out  at  night  any 


more." 


"  Yes ;  you  promised  me  that." 

"  And  I'll  promise  more." 

"What,  father?" 

"Never  to  go  into  a  tavern  again." 

"Never!" 

"  No,  never.     And  I'll  promise  still  more." 

"Father?" 

"Never  to  drink  a  drop  of  liquor  as  long  as 
I  live." 

"  Oh,  father !  dear,  dear  father ! "  And  with 
a  cry  of  joy  Mary  started  up  and  flung  herself 
upon  his  breast.  Morgan  drew  his  arms  tightly 
around  her,  and  sat  for  a  long  time,  with  his 
lips  pressed  to  her  cheek — while  she  lay  against 
his  bosom  as  still  as  death.  As  death  ?  Yes ; 
for,  when  the  father  unclasped  his  arms,  the 


138  TEN   NIGHTS   IN    A   BAR-ROOM. 

spirit  of  his  child  was  with  the  angels  of  the 
resurrection ! 


It  was  my  fourth  evening  in  the  bar-room  of 
the  "  Sickle  and  Sheaf."  The  company  was  not 
large,  nor  in  very  gay  spirits.  All  had  heard 
of  little  Mary's  illness;  which  followed  so 
quickly  on  the  blow  from  the  tumbler,  that 
none  hesitated  about  connecting  the  one  with 
the  other.  So  regular  had  been  the  child's 
visits,  and  so  gently  exerted,  yet  powerful,  her 
influence  over  her  father,  that  most  of  the  fre 
quenters  at  the  "  Sickle  and  Sheaf  "  had  felt  for 
her  a  more  than  common  interest ;  which  the 
cruel  treatment  she  received,  and  the  subse 
quent  illness,  materially  heightened. 

"  Joe  Morgan  hasn't  turned  up  this  evening," 
remarked  some  one. 

"  And  isn't  likely  to  for  a  while,"  was  an 
swered. 

"  Why  not  ? "  inquired  the  first  speaker. 


NIGHT   THE   FOURTH.  139 

"  They  say,  the  man  with  the  poker  is  after 
him." 

"  Oh,  dear  !  that's  dreadful.  It's  the  second 
or  third  chase,  isn't  it  ? " 

"Yes." 

"Hell  be  likely  to  catch  him  this  time." 

"I  shouldn't  wonder." 

"  Poor  devil !  It  won't  be  much  matter.  His 
family  will  be  a  great  deal  better  without  him." 

"  It  will  be  a  blessing  to  them  if  he  dies." 

"  Miserable,  drunken  wretch  ! "  muttered 
Harvey  Green,  who  was  present.  "He's  only 
in  the  way  of  everybody.  The  sooner  he's  off, 
the  better." 

The  landlord  said  nothing.  He  stood  lean 
ing  across  the  bar,  looking  more  sober  than 
usual. 

"  That  was  rather  an  unlucky  affair  of  yours, 
Simon.  They  say  the  child  is  going  to  die." 

"  Who  says  so  ? "  Slade  started,  scowled,  and 
threw  a  quick  glance  upon  the  speaker. 

"Doctor  Green." 


140  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-KOOM. 

"Nonsense!  Doctor  Green  never  said  any 
such  thing." 

"Yes,  he  did,  though." 

"Who  heard  him?" 

"I  did." 

"You  did?" 

"Yes." 

"  He  wasn't  in  earnest  ? "  A  slight  paleness 
overspread  the  countenance  of  the  landlord. 

"He  was,  though.  They  had  an  awful  time 
there  last  night." 

"Where?" 

"  At  Joe  Morgan's.  Joe  has  the  mania,  and 
Mrs.  Morgan  was  alone  with  him  and  her  sick 
girl  a]l  night." 

"  He  deserves  to  have  it ;  that's  all  I've  got 
to  say."  Slade  tried  to  speak  with  a  kind  of 
rough  indifference. 

"That's  pretty  hard  talk,"  said  one  of  the 
company. 

"  I  don't  care  if  it  is.  It's  the  truth.  What 
else  could  he  expect?" 


NIGHT  THE   FOURTH.  141 

"A  man  like  Joe  is  to  be  pitied,"  remarked 
the  other. 

"  I  pity  his  family,"  said  Slade. 

"Especially  little  Mary."  The  words  were 
uttered  tauntingly,  and  produced  murmurs  of 
satisfaction  throughout  the  room. 

Slade  started  back  from  where  he  stood,  in 
an  impatient  manner,  saying  something  that  I 
did  not  hear. 

"Look  here,  Simon,  I  heard  some  strong 
suggestions  over  at  Lawyer  Phillip's  office  to 
day." 

Slade  turned  his  eyes  upon  the  speaker. 

"  If  that  child  should  die,  you'll  probably 
have  to  stand  a  trial  for  manslaughter." 

"No — girl-slaughter,"  said  Harvey  Green, 
with  a  cold,  inhuman  chuckle. 

"  But,  I'm  in  earnest,"  said  the  other.  "  Mr. 
Phillips  said  that  a  case  could  be  made  out  of 
it." 

"It  was  only  an  accident,  and  all  the  law 
yers  in  Christendom  can't  make  anything  more 


142  TEN  NIGHTS   IN   A   BAK-ROOM. 

of  it,"  remarked  Green,  taking  the  side  of  the 
landlord,  and  speaking  with  more  gravity  than 
before. 

"  Hardly  an  accident,"  was  replied. 

"  He  didn't  throw  at  the  girl." 

"  No  matter.  He  threw  a  heavy  tumbler  at 
her  father's  head.  The  intention  was  to  do  an 
injury ;  and  the  law  will  not  stop  to  make  any 
nice  discriminations  in  regard  to  the  individual 
upon  whom  the  injury  was  wrought.  More 
over,  who  is  prepared  to  say  that  he  didn't  aim 
at  the  girl  ? " 

"  Any  man  who  intimates  such  a  thing  is  a 
cursed  liar ! "  exclaimed  the  landlord,  half  mad 
dened  by  the  suggestion. 

"I  won't  throw  a  tumbler  at  your  head," 
coolly  remarked  the  individual  whose  plain 
speaking  had  so  irritated  Simon  Slade.  "  Throw 
ing  tumblers  I  never  thought  a  very  creditable 
kind  of  argument — though  with  some  men, 
when  cornered,  it  is  a  favorite  mode  of  settling 
a  question.  Now,  as  for  our  friend  the  land- 


NIGHT   THE   FOURTH.  143 

lord,  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  his  new  business 
doesn't  seem  to  have  improved  either  his  man 
ners  or  his  temper  a  great  deal.  As  a  miller, 
he  was  one  of  the  best-tempered  men  in  the 
world,  and  wouldn't  have  harmed  a  kitten. 
But,  now,  he  can  swear,  and  bluster,  and  throw 
glasses  at  people's  heads,  and  all  that  sort  of 
thing,  with  the  best  of  brawling  rowdies.  I'm 
afraid  he's  taking  lessons  in  a  bad  school — I 


am." 


"  I  don't  think  you  have  any  right  to  insult 
a  man  in  his  own  house,"  answered  Slade,  in  a 
voice  dropped  to  a  lower  key  than  the  one  in 
which  he  had  before  spoken. 

"  I  had  no  intention  to  insult  you,"  said  the 
other.  "I  was  only  speaking  suppositiously, 
and  in  view  of  your  position  on  a  trial  for 
manslaughter,  when  I  suggested  that  no  one 
could  prove,  or  say  that  you  didn't  mean  to 
strike  little  Mary,  when  you  threw  the  tum 
bler." 

"Well,  I  didn't  mean  to  strike  her:  and  I 


144  TEN   NIGHTS    IN    A    BAR-KOOM. 

don't  believe  there  is  a  man  in  this  bar-room 
who  thinks  that  I  did — not  one." 

"  I'm  sure  I  do  not,"  said  the  individual  with 
whom  he  was  in  controversy.  "Nor  I" — "Nor 
I "  —went  round  the  room. 

"  But,  as  I  wished  to  set  forth,"  was  contin 
ued,  "  the  case  will  not  be  so  plain  a  one  when 
it  finds  its  way  into  court,  and  twelve  men,  to 
each  of  whom  you  may  be  a  stranger,  come  to 
sit  in  judgment  upon  the  act.  The  slightest 
twist  in  the  evidence,  the  prepossessions  of  a 
witness,  or  the  bad  tact  of  the  prosecution,  may 
cause  things  to  look  so  dark  on  your  side  as  to 
leave  you  but  little  chance.  For  my  part,  if 
the  child  should  die,  I  think  your  chances 
for  a  term  in  the  state's  prison  are  as  eight 
to  ten;  and  I  should  call  that  pretty  close 
cutting." 

I  looked  attentively  at  the  man  who  said 
this,  all  the  while  he  was  speaking,  but  could 
not  clearly  make  out  whether  he  were  alto 
gether  in  earnest,  or  merely  trying  to  worry 


NIGHT   THE    FOURTH.  145 

the  mind  of  Slade.  That  he  was  successful  in 
accomplishing  the  latter,  was  very  plain  ;  for 
the  landlord's  countenance  steadily  lost  color, 
and  became  overcast  with  alarm.  With  that 
evil  delight  which  some  men  take  in  giving 
pain,  others,  seeing  Slade's  anxious  looks, 
joined  in  the  persecution,  and  soon  made  the 
landlord's  case  look  black  enough;  and  the 
landlord  himself  almost  as  frightened  as  a 
criminal  just  under  arrest. 

"It's  bad  business,  and  no  mistake,"  said 
one. 

"  Yes,  bad  enough.  I  wouldn't  be  in  his 
shoes  for  his  coat,"  remarked  another. 

"  For  his  coat  ?  No,  not  for  his  whole  ward 
robe,"  said  a  third. 

"  Nor  for  the  Sickle  and  Sheaf  thrown  into 
the  bargain,"  added  a  fourth. 

"  It  will  be  a  clear  case  of  manslaughter,  and 
no  mistake.  What  is  the  penalty  ? " 

"  From  two  to  ten  years  in  the  penitentiary," 
was  readily  answered. 


146  TEN   NIGHTS    IN    A    BAR-ROOM. 

"  They'll  give  him  five,  I"  reckon." 

"  No — not  more  than  two.  It  will  be  hard 
to  prove  malicious  intention." 

"I  don't  know  that.  I've  heard  him  curse 
the  girl  and  threaten  her  many  a  time.  Haven't 
you?" 

«  Yes  "—"Yes  "— "  I  have,  often,"  ran  around 
the  bar-room. 

"  You'd  better  hang  me  at  once,"  said  Slade, 
affecting  to  laugh. 

At  this  moment,  the  door  behind  Slade 
opened,  and  I  saw  his  wife's  anxious  face 
thrust  in  for  a  moment.  She  said  something 
to  her  husband,  who  uttered  a  low  ejaculation 
of  surprise,  and  went  out  quickly. 

"  What's  the  matter  now  ? "  asked  one  of 
another. 

"  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  little  Mary  Morgan 
was  dead,"  was  suggested. 

"I  heard  her  say  dead,"  remarked  one  who 
was  standing  near  the  bar. 

"  What's  the  matter,  Frank  ? "  inquired  sev- 


NIGHT    THE    FOURTH.  147 

eral  voices,  as  the  landlord's  son  came  in  through 
the  door  out  of  which  his  father  had  passed. 

"  Mary  Morgan  is  dead,"  answered  the  boy. 

"  Poor  child  !  Poor  child  !  "  sighed  one,  in 
genuine  regret  at  the  not  unlooked  for  intelli 
gence.  "Her  trouble  is  over." 

And  there  was  not  one  present,  but  Harvey 
Green,  who  did  not  utter  some  word  of  pity  or 
sympathy.  He  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and 
looked  as  much  of  contempt  and  indifference  as 
he  thought  it  prudent  to  express. 

"  See  here,  boys,"  spoke  out  one  of  the  com 
pany,  "can't  we  do  something  for  poor  Mrs. 
Morgan  ?  Can't  we  make  up  a  purse  for  her?" 

"That's  it,"  was  quickly  responded;  "I'm 
good  for  three  dollars;  and  there  they  are," 
drawing  out  the  money  and  laying  it  upon  the 
counter. 

"  And  here  are  five  to  go  with  them,"  said  I, 
quickly  stepping  forward,  and  placing  a  five- 
dollar  bill  alongside  of  the  first  contribution. 

"Here  are  five  more,"  added  a  third  indi« 

10 


148  TEN   NIGHTS   IN    A   BAR-KOOM. 

vidual.  And  so  it  went  on,  until  thirty  dollars 
were  paid  down  for  the  benefit  of  Mrs.  Mor 
gan. 

"Into  whose  hands  shall  this  be  placed?" 
was  next  asked. 

"Let  me  suggest  Mrs.  Slade,"  said  I.  "To 
my  certain  knowledge,  she  has  been  with  Mrs. 
Morgan  to-night.  I  know  that  she  feels  in  her 
a  true  woman's  interest." 

"Just  the  person,"  was  answered.  "Frank, 
tell  your  mother  we  would  like  to  see  her.  Ask 
her  to  step  into  the  sitting-room." 

In  a  few  moments  the  boy  came  back,  and 
said  that  his  mother  would  see  us  in  the  next 
room,  into  which  we  all  passed.  Mrs.  Slade 
stood  near  the  table,  on  which  burned  a  lamp. 
I  noticed  that  her  eyes  were  red,  and  that  there 
was  on  her  countenance  a  troubled  and  sorrow 
ful  expression. 

"  We  have  just  heard,"  said  one  of  the  com 
pany,  that  little  Mary  Morgan  is  dead." 

"  Yes — it  is  too  true,"  answered  Mrs.  Slade, 


NIGHT    THE    FOURTH.  14:9 

mournfully.  "I  have  just  left  there.  Poor 
child  !  she  has  passed  from  an  evil  world." 

"Evil  it  has  indeed  been  to  her,"  was  re< 
marked. 

"  You  may  well  say  that.  And  yet,  amid  al] 
the  evil,  she  has  been  an  angel  of  mercy.  Her 
last  thought  in  dying  was  of  her  miserable 
father.  For  him,  at  any  time,  she  would  have 
laid  down  her  life  willingly." 

"  Her  mother  must  be  nearly  broken-hearted. 
Mary  is  the  last  of  her  children." 

"And  yet  the  child's  death  may  prove  a 
blessing  to  her." 

"How  so?" 

"  Her  father  promised  Mary,  just  at  the  last 
moment — solemnly  promised  her — that,  hence 
forth,  he  would  never  taste  liquor.  That  was 
all  her  trouble.  That  was  the  thorn  in  her 
dying  pillow.  But  he  plucked  it  out,  and  she 
went  to  sleep,  lying  against  his  heart.  Oh, 
gentlemen !  it  was  the  most  touching  sight  I 


ever  saw." 


150  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

All  present  seemed  deeply  moved. 

"They  are  very  poor  and  wretched,"  was 
said. 

"  Poor  and  miserable  enough/7  answered  Mrs. 
Slade. 

"We  have  just  been  taking  up  a  collection 
for  Mrs.  Morgan.  Here  is  the  money,  Mrs. 
Slade — thirty  dollars  —  we  place  it  in  your 
hands  for  her  benefit.  Do  with  it,  for  her,  as 
you  may  see  best." 

*  Oh,  gentlemen  ! "  What  a  quick  gleam 
went  over  the  face  of  Mrs.  Slade.  "I  thank 
you,  from  my  heart,  in  the  name  of  that  un 
happy  one,  for  this  act  of  true  benevolence. 
To  you  the  sacrifice  has  been  small ;  to  her  the 
benefit  will  be  great  indeed.  A 'new  life  will, 
I  trust,  be  commenced  by  her  husband,  and  this 
timely  aid  will  be  something  to  rest  upon,  until 
he  can  get  into  better  employment  than  he  now 
has.  Oh,  gentlemen !  let  me  urge  on  you,  one 
and  all,  to 'make  common  cause  in  favor  of  Joe 
Morgan.  His  purposes  are  good  now  ;  he  means 


HIGHT   THE   FOURTH.  151 

to  keep  his  promise  to  his  dying  child — means 
to  reform  his  life.  Let  the  good  impulses  that 
led  to  this  act  of  relief  further  prompt  you  to 
watch  over  him,  and,  if  you  see  him  about  going 
astray,  to  lead  him  kindly  back  into  the  right 
path.  Never — oh  !  never  encourage  him  to 
drink;  but  rather  take  the  glass  from  his  hand, 
if  his  own  appetite  lead  him  aside,  and  by  all 
the  persuasive  influence  you  possess,  induce  him 
to  go  out  from  the  place  of  temptation. 

"Pardon  my  boldness  in  saying  so  much." 
added  Mrs.  Slade,  recollecting  herself,  and  col 
oring  deeply  as  she  did  so.  "My  feelings  have 
led  me  away." 

And  she  took  the  money  from  the  table 
where  it  had  been  placed,  and  retired  toward 
the  door. 

"You  have  spoken  well,  madam,"  was  an 
swered.  "  And  we  thank  you  for  reminding 
us  of  our  duty." 

"One  word  more — and  forgive  the  earnest 
heart  from  which  it  comes  " — said  Mrs.  Slade, 


152  TEN   NIGHTS    IN   A   BAB-BOOM. 

in  a  voice  that  trembled  on  the  words  she  ut 
tered.  "  I  cannot  help  speaking,  gentlemen  ! 
Think  if  some  of  you  be  not  entering  the  road 
wherein  Joe  Morgan  has  so  long  been  walking. 
Save  him,  in  heaven's  name  ! — but  see  that  ye 
do  not  yourselves  Decome  cast-aways  ! " 

As  she  said  this,  she  glided  through  the  door, 
and  it  closed  after  her. 

"  I  don't  know  what  her  husband  would  say 
to  that,"  was  remarked  after  a  few  moments  of 
surprised  silence. 

"  I  don't  care  what  lie  would  say ;  but  I'll 
tell  you  what  /  will  say,"  spoke  out  a  man 
whom  I  had  several  times  noticed  as  rather  a 
free  tippler.  "  The  old  lady  has  given  us  capi 
tal  advice,  and  I  mean  to  take  it,  for  one.  I'm 
going  to  try  to  save  Joe  Morgan,  and — tnyself 
too.  I've  already  entered  the  road  she  referred 
to ;  but  I'm  going  to  turn  back.  So  good-night 
to  you  all ;  and  if  Simon  Slade  gets  no  more  of 
my  sixpences,  he  may  thank  his  wife  for  it — 
God  bless  her?" 


NIGHT   THE    FOURTH.  153 

And  the  man  drew  his  hat  with  a  jerk  over 
his  forehead,  and  left  immediately. 

This  seemed  the  signal  for  dispersion,  and 
all  retired — not  by  way  of  the  bar-room,  but 
out  into  the  hall,  and  through  the  door  leading 
upon  the  porch  that  ran  along  in  front  of  the 
house.  Soon  after  the  bar  was  closed,  and  a 
dead  silence  reigned  throughout  the  house.  I 
saw  no  more  of  Slade  that  night.  Early  in  the 
morning,  I  left  Cedarville ;  the  landlord  looked 
very  sober  when  he  bade  me  good-by  through 
the  stage-door,  and  wished  me  a  pleasant  journey. 


154:  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A  BAR-ROOM. 


NIGHT    THE    FIFTH. 

SOME  OF  THE   CONSEQUENCES  OF  TA VEEN-KEEPING. 

"IVTEAKLY  five  years  glided  away  before 
business  again  called  me  to  Cedarville. 
I  knew  little  of  what  passed  there  in  the  inter 
val,  except  that  Simon  Slade  had  actually  been 
indicted  for  manslaughter,  in  causing  the  death 
of  Morgan's  child.  He  did  not  stand  a  ..trial, 
however,  Judge  Lyman  having  used  his  influ 
ence,  successfully,  in  getting  the  indictment 
quashed.  The  judge,  some  people  said,  in 
terested  himself  in  Slade  more  than  was  just 
seemly — especially,  as  he  had,  on  several  occa 
sions,  in  the  discharge  of  his  official  duties,  dis 
played  what  seemed  an  over-righteous  indigna 
tion  against  individuals  arraigned  for  petty 
offences.  The  impression  made  upon  me  by 
Judge  Lyman  had  not  been  favorable.  He 


NIGHT   THE   FIFTH.  155 

seemed  a  cold,  selfish,  scheming  man  of  the 
world.  That  he  was  an  unscrupulous  politi 
cian,  was  plain  to  me,  in  a  single  evening's 
observation  of  his  sayings  and  doings  among 
the  common  herd  of  a  village  bar-room. 

As  the  stage  rolled,  with  a  gay  flourish  of 
our  driver's  bugle,  into  the  village,  I  noted  here 
and  there  familiar  objects,  and  marked  the 
varied  evidences  of  change.  Our  way  was 
past  the  elegant  residence  and  grounds  of 
Judge  Hammond,  the  most  beautiful  and  high 
ly  cultivated  in  Cedar vi lie.  At  least,  such  it 
was  regarded  at  the  time  of  my  previous  visit. 
But,  the  moment  my  eyes  rested  upon  the  dwell 
ing  and  its  varied  surroundings,  I  perceived  an 
altered  aspect.  Was  it  the  simple  work  of  time  ? 
or,  had  familiarity  with  other  and  more  elegant 
ly  arranged  suburban  homes,  marred  this  in  my 
*v,es  by  involuntary  contrast?  Or  had  the 
hand  of  cultivation  really  been  stayed,  and  the 
marring  fingers  of  neglect  suffered  undisturbed 
to  trace  on  every  thing  disfiguring  characters? 


156  TEN    NIGHTS    IN    A   BAR-ROOM. 

Such  questions  were  in  my  thoughts,  when  I 
saw  a  man  in  the  large  portico  of  the  dwelling, 
the  ample  columns  of  which,  capped  in  rich 
Corinthian,  gave  the  edifice  the  aspect  of  a 
Grecian  temple.  He  stood  leaning  against  one 
of  the  columns— his  hat  off,  and  his  long  gray 
hair  thrown  back  and  resting  lightly  on  his 
neck  and  shoulders.  His  head  was  bent  down 
upon  his  breast,  and  he  seemed  in  deep  abstrac 
tion.  Just  as  the  coach  swept  by,  he  looked 
up,  and  in  the  changed  features  I  recognized 
Judge  Hammond.  His  complexion  was  still 
florid,  but  his  face  had  grown  thin,  and  his  eyes 
were  sunken.  Trouble  was  written  in  every 
lineament.  Trouble  ?  How  inadequately  does 
the  word  express  my  meaning  !  Ah  !  at  a  sin- 
gle  glance,  what  a  volume  of  suffering  wa>. 
opened  to  the  gazer's  eye.  Not  lightly  had  the 
foot  of  time  rested  there,  as  if  treading  on  odor 
ous  flowers,  but  heavily,  and  with  iron-shod 
heel.  This  I  saw  at  a  glance ;  and  then,  only 
the  image  of  the  man  was  present  to  my  inner 


NIGHT  THE   FIFTH.  157 

vision,  for  the  swiftly  rolling  stage-coach  had 
borne  me  onward  past  the  altered  home  of  the 
wealthiest  denizen  of  Cedarville.  In  a  few 
minutes  our  driver  reined  up  before  the  "  Sickle 
and  Sheaf,"  and  as  I  stepped  to  the  ground,  a 
rotund,  coarse,  red-faced  man,  whom  I  failed 
to  recognize  as  Simon  Slade  until  he  spoke, 
grasped  my  hand,  and  pronounced  my  name. 
I  could  not  but  contrast,  in  thought,  his  ap 
pearance  with  what  it  was  when  I  first  saw 
him,  some  six  years  previously ;  nor  help  say 
ing  to  myself : 

"  So  much  for  tavern-keeping ! " 

As  marked  a  change  was  visible  everywhere 
in  and  around  the  "  Sickle  and  Sheaf."  It,  too, 
had  grown  larger  by  additions  of  wings  and 
rooms ;  but  it  had  also  grown  coarser  in  grow 
ing  larger.  When  built,  all  the  doors  were 
painted  white,  and  the  shutters  green,  giving 
to  the  house  a  neat,  even  tasteful  appearance. 
But  the  white  and  green  had  given  place  to  a 
dark,  dirty  brown,  that  to  my  eyes  was  particu- 


158  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A    BAR-ROOM. 

laiiy  unattractive.  The  bar-room  had  been 
extended,  and  now  a  polished  brass  rod,  or 
railing,  embellished  the  counter,  and  sundry 
ornamental  attractions  had  been  given  to  the 
shelving  behind  the  bar — such  as  mirrors,  gild 
ing,  etc.  Pictures,  too,  were  hung  upon  the 
walls,  or  more  accurately  speaking,  coarse  col 
ored  lithographs,  the  subjects  of  which,  if  not 
really  obscene,  were  flashing,  or  vulgar.  In  the 
sitting-room,  next  to  the  bar,  I  noticed  little 
change  of  objects,  but  much  in  their  condition. 
The  carpet,  chairs,  and  tables  were  the  same  in 
fact,  but  far  from  being  the  same  in  appear 
ance.  The  room  had  a  close,  greasy  odor,  and 
looked  as  if  it  had  not  been  thoroughly  swept 
and  dusted  for  a  week. 

A  smart  young  Irishman  was  in  the  bar,  and 
handed  me  the  book  in  which  passenger's 
names  were  registered.  After  I  had  recorded 
mine,  he  directed  my  trunk  to  be  carried  to  the 
room  designated  as  the  one  I  was  to  occupy. 
I  followed  the  porter,  who  conducted  me  to 


NIGHT   THE   FIFTH.  159 

the  chamber  which  had  been  mine  at  previous 
visits.  Here,  too,  were  evidences  of  change ; 
but  not  for  the  better.  Then  the  room  was  as 
sweet  and  clean  as  it  could  be ;  the  sheets  airt 
pillow-cases  as  white  as  snow,  and  the  furniture 
shining  with  polish.  Now  all  was  dusty  and 
dingy,  the  air  foul,  and  the  bed-linen  scarcely 
whiter  than  tow.  No  curtain  made  softer  the 
light  as  it  came  through  the  window ;  nor 
would  the  shutters  entirely  keep  out  the  glare, 
for  several  of  the  slats  were  broken.  A  feeling 
of  disgust  came  over  me,  at  the  close  smell  and 
foul  appearance  of  everything ;  so,  after  wash 
ing  my  hands  and  face,  and  brushing  the  dust 
from  my  clothes,  I  went  down-stairs.  The  sit 
ting-room  was  scarcely  more  attractive  than  my 
chamber ;  so  I  went  out  upon  the  porch  and 
took  a  chair.  Several  loungers  were  here; 
hearty,  strong-looking,  but  lazy  fellows,  who,  if 
they  had  anything  to  do,  liked  idling  better 
than  working.  One  of  them  had  leaned  his 
chair  back  against  the  wall  of  the  house,  and 


160  TEN    NIGHTS    IN    A    BAR-ROOM. 

was  swinging  his  legs  with  a  half  circular  mo 
tion,  and  humming  "  Old  Folks  at  Home." 
Another  set  astride  of  his  chair,  with  his  face 
turned  toward^  and  his  chin  resting  upon,  the 
D'ack.  He  was  in  too  lazy  a  condition  of  body 
and  mind  for  motion  or  singing.  A  third  had 
slidden  down  in  his  chair,  until  he  sat  on  his 
back,  while  his  feet  were  elevated  above  his 
head,  and  resting  against  one  of  the  pillars  that 
supported  the  porch ;  while  a  fourth  lay 
stretched  out  on  a  bench,  sleeping,  his  hat  over 
his  face  to  protect  him  from  buzzing  and  biting 
flies. 

Though  all  but  the  sleeping  man  eyed  me  in 
quisitively,  as  I  took  my  place  among  them,  not 
one  changed  his  position.  The  rolling  of  eye 
balls  cost  but  little  exertion ;  and  with  that 
effort  they  were  contented. 

"  Hallo  !  who's  that  ? "  one  of  these  loungers 
suddenly  exclaimed,  as  a  man  went  swiftly  by 
in  a  light  sulky ;  and  he  started  up,  and  gazed 
down  the  road,  seeking  to  penetrate  the  cloud 


NIGHT    THE    FIFTH.  161 

of  dust  which  the  fleet  rider  had  swept  up  with 
hoofs  and  wheels. 

"I  didn't  see."  The  sleeping  man  aroused 
himself,  rubbed  his  eyes,  and  gazed  along  the 
road. 

"Who  was  it,  Matthew?"  The  Irish  bar- 
keeper  now  stood  in  the  door. 

"  Willy  Hammond,"  was  answered  by  Mat 
thew. 

"  Indeed !  Is  that  his  new  three  hundred 
dollar  horse  ? " 

"Yes." 

"  My  !  but  he's  a  screamer ! " 

"  Isn't  he !  Most  as  fast  as  his  young  mas 
ter." 

"Hardly,"  said  one  of  the  men,  laugh 
ing.  "  I  don't  think  anything  in  creation 
can  beat  Hammond.  He  goes  it  with  a  per 
fect  rush." 

"  Doesn't  he  !  Well ;  you  may  say  what  you 
please  of  him,  he's  as  good-hearted  a  fellow  as 
ever  walked ;  and  generous  to  a  fault." 


162  TEN    NIGHTS    IN    A    BAR-ROOM. 

"  His  old  dad  will  agree  with  you  in  the  last 
remark,"  said  Matthew. 

"  No  doubt  of  that,  for  he  has  to  stand  the 
bills,"  was  answered. 

"Yes,  whether  he  will  or  no,  for  I  rather 
think  Willy  has,  somehow  or  other,  got  the 
upper  hand  of  him." 

"  In  what  way  ? " 

"It's  Hammond  and  Son,  over  at  the  mill 
and  distillery." 

"  I  know ;  but  what  of  that ! " 

"Willy  was  made  the  business  man — osten 
sibly — in  order,  as  the  old  man  thought,  to  get 
him  to  feel  the  responsibility  of  the  new  posi 
tion,  and  thus  tame  him  down." 

"  Tame  him  down  !  Oh,  dear  !  It  will  take 
more  than  business  to  do  that.  The  curb  was 
applied  too  late." 

"As  the  old  gentleman  has  already  discov 
ered,  I'm  thinking,  to  his  sorrow." 

"He  never  comes  here  any  more;  does  he, 
Matthew  ? " 


NIGHT   THE    FIFTH.  163 

"Who?" 

"Judge  Hammond." 

"  Oh,  dear,  no.  He  and  Slade  had  all  sorts 
of  a  quarrel  about  a  year  ago,  and  he's  never 
darkened  our  doors  since." 

"  It  was  something  about  Willy  and ." 

The  speaker  did  not  mention  any  name,  but 
winked  knowingly  and  tossed  his  head  toward 
the  entrance  of  the  house,  to  indicate  some 
member  of  Blade's  family. 

"  I  believe  so." 

"D'ye  think  Willy  really  likes  her?" 

Matthew  shrugged  his  shoulders,  but  made 
no  answer. 

"  She's  a  nice  girl,"  was  remarked  in  an  un 
der  tone,  and  good  enough  for  Hammond's  son 
any  day ;  though,  if  she  were  my  daughter,  I'd 
rather  see  her  in  Jericho  than  fond  of  his  com 
pany." 

"He'll  have  plenty  of  money  to  give  her. 
She  can  live  like  a  queen." 

"For  how  long?" 

11 


164  TEN   NIGHTS    IN    A    BAB-ROOM. 

"  Hush ! "  came  from  the  lips  of  Matthew. 
"There  she  is  now." 

I  looked  up,  and  saw  at  a  short  distance  from 
the  house,  and  approaching,  a  young  lady,  in 
whose  sweet,  modest  face,  I  at  once  recognized 
Flora  Slade.  Five  years  had  developed  her  in 
to  a  beautiful  woman.  In  her  alone,  of  all  that 
appertained  to  Simon  Slade,  there  was  no  dete 
rioration.  Her  eyes  were  as  mild  and  pure  as 
when  first  I  met  her  at  gentle  sixteen,  and  her 
father  said  "My  daughter,"  with  such  a  min 
gling  of  pride  and  affection  in  his  tone.  She 
passed  near  where  I  was  sitting,  and  entered 
the  house.  A  closer  view  showed  me  some 
marks  of  thought  and  suffering ;  but  they  only 
heightened  the  attractions  of  her  face.  I  failed 
not  to  observe  the  air  of  respect  with  which  all 
returned  her  slight  nod  and  smile  of  recog 
nition. 

"She's  a  nice  girl,  and  no  mistake — the 
flower  of  this  flock,"  was  said,  as  soon  as  she 
passed  into  the  house. 


NIGHT   THE   FIFTH.  165 

"  Too  good  for  Willy  Hammond,  in  my  opin 
ion,"  said  Matthew.  "  Clever  and  generous  as 
people  call  him." 

"  Just  my  opinion,"  was  responded.  "  She's 
as  pure  and  good,  almost,  as  an  angel ;  and  he  ? 
— I  can  tell  you  what — he's  not  the  clear  thing. 
He  knows  a  little  too  much  of  the  world — on 
its  bad  side,  I  mean." 

The  appearance  of  Slade  put  an  end  to  this 
conversation.  A  second  observation  of  his 
person  and  countenance  did  not  remove  the 
first  unfavorable  impression.  His  face  had 
grown  decidedly  bad  in  expression,  as  well  as 
gross  and  sensual.  The  odor  of  his  breath,  as 
he  took  a  chair  close  to  where  I  was  sitting, 
was  that  of  one  who  drank  habitually  and 
freely ;  and  the  red,  swimming  eyes  evidenced, 
too  surely,  a  ripid  progress  toward  the  sad  con 
dition  of  a  confirmed  inebriate.  There  was, 
too,  a  certain  thickness  of  speech,  that  gave  an 
other  corroborating  sign  of  evil  progress. 

"  Have  you  seen  anything  of  Frank  this  after- 


166  TEN   NIGHTS    IN    A   BAR-ROOM. 

noon  ? "  he  inquired  of  Matthew,  after  we  had 
passed  a  few  words. 

"  Nothing,"  was  the  bar-keeper's  answer. 

"I  saw  him  with  Tom  Wilkins  as  I  came 
over,"  said  one  of  the  men  who  was  sitting  in 
the  porch. 

"What  was  he  doing  with  Tom  Wilkins?" 
said  Slade,  in  a  fretted  tone  of  voice.  "  He 
doesn't  seem  very  choice  of  his  company." 

"  They  were  gunning." 

"  Gunning ! " 

"Yes.  They  both  had  fowling-pieces.  I 
wasn't  near  enough  to  ask  where  they  were 
going." 

This  information  disturbed  Slade  a  good 
deaL  After  muttering  to  himself  a  little 
while,  he  started  up  and  went  into  the  house. 

"And  I  could  have  told  him  a  little  more, 
had  I  been  so  inclined,"  said  the  individual 
who  mentioned  the  fact  that  Frank  was  with 
Tom  Wilkins. 

"  What  more  ? "  inquired  Matthew. 


NIGHT    THE    FIFTH.  167 

"There  was  a  buggy  in  the  case;  and  a 
champagne  basket.  What  the  latter  contained 
you  can  easily  guess." 

•'  Whose  buggy?" 

"I  don't  know  anything  about  the  buggy; 
but  if  '  Lightfoot '  doesn't  sink  in  value  a  hun 
dred  dollars  or  so  before  sundown,  call  me  a 
false  prophet." 

"Oh,  no,"  said  Matthew,  incredulously. 
"  Frank  wouldn't  do  an  outrageous  thing  like 
that.  Lightfoot  won't  be  in  a  condition  to 
drive  for  a  month  to  come." 

"  I  don't  care.  She's  out  now ;  and  the  way 
she  was  putting  it  down  when  I  saw  her,  would 
have  made  a  locomotive  look  cloudy." 

"  Where  did  he  get  her  ? "  was  inquired. 

"She's  been  in  the  six-acre  field,  over  by 
Mason's  Bridge,  for  the  last  week  or  so,"  Mat 
thew  answered.  "  Well ;  all  I  have  to  say,"  he 
added,  "is  that  Frank  ought  to  be  slung  up 
and  well  horse-whipped.  I  never  saw  such  a 
young  rascal.  He  cares  for  no  good,  and 


X   '    x 

168  TEN    NIGHTS    IN    A    BAR-ROOM. 

fears   no   evil.      He's   the   worst  boy   I   ever 


saw." 


"  It  would  hardly  do  for  you  to  call  him  a 
boy  to  his  face,"  said  one  of  the  men,  laughing. 

"I  don't  have  much  to  say  to  him  in  any 
way,"  replied  Matthew,  "  for  I  know  very  well 
that  if  we  ever  do  get  into  a  regular  quarrel, 
there'll  be  a  hard  time  of  it.  The  same  house 
will  not  hold  us  afterward — that's  certain.  So 
I  steer  clear  of  the  young  reprobate." 

"  I  wonder  his  father  don't  put  him  to  some 
business,"  was  remarked.  "The  idle  life  he 
now  leads  will  be  his  ruin." 

"  He  was  behind  the  bar  for  a  year  or  two." 

"Yes;  and  was  smart  at  mixing  a  glass- 
but " 

"Was  himself  becoming  too  good  a  cus 
tomer  ? " 

"  Precisely.  He  got  drunk  as  a  fool  before 
reaching  his  fifteenth  year." 

"  Good  gracious  ! "  I  exclaimed,  involun 
tarily. 


NIGHT  THE   FIFTH.  169 

"  It's  true,  sir,"  said  the  last  speaker,  turning 
to  me,  "I  never  saw  anything  like  it.  And 
this  wasn't  all  bar-room  talk,  which,  as  you 
may  know,  isn't  the  most  refined  and  virtuous 
in  the  world.  I  wouldn't  like  my  son  to  hear 
much  of  it.  Frank  was  always  an  eager  list 
ener  to  everything  that  was  said,  and  in  a  very 
short  time  became  an  adept  in  slang  and  pro 
fanity.  I'm  no  saint  myself;  but  it's  often 
made  my  blood  run  cold  to  hear  him  swear." 

4 1  pity  his  mother,"  said  I ;  for  my  thought 
turned  naturally  to  Mrs.  Slade. 

"  You  may  well  do  that,"  was  answered.  u  I 
doubt  if  Cedarville  holds  a  sadder  heart.  It 
was  a  dark  day  for  her,  let  me  tell  you,  when 
Simon  Slade  sold  his  mill  and  built  this  tavern. 
She  was  opposed  to  it  in  the  beginning." 

"  I  have  inferred  as  much." 

"  I  know  it,"  said  the  man.  "  My  wife  has 
been  intimate  with  her  for  years.  Indeed,  they 
have  always  been  like  sisters.  I  remember 
very  well  her  coming  to  our  house,  about  the 


170  TEN    NIGHTS   IN    A   BAB-ROOM. 

time  the  mill  was  sold,  and  crying  about  it  as 
if  her  heart  would  break.  She  saw  nothing 
but  trouble  and  sorrow  ahead.  Tavern-keep 
ing  she  had  always  regarded  as  a  low  business ; 
and  the  change  from  a  respectable  miller  to 
a  lazy  tavern-keeper,  as  she  expressed  it,  was 
presented  to  her  mind  as  something  disgrace 
ful.  I  remember,  very  well,  trying  to  argue 
the  point  with  her — assuming  that  it  was  quite 
as  respectable  to  keep  tavern  as  to  do  anything 
else;  but  I  might  as  well  have  talked  to  the 
wind.  She  was  always  a  pleasant,  hopeful, 
cheerful  woman  before  that  time ;  but,  really,  I 
don't  think  I've  seen  a  true  smile  on  her  face 


since." 


"  That  was  a  great  deal  for  a  man  to  lose," 
said  I. 

"  What  ? "  he  inquired,  not  clearly  under 
standing  me. 

"The  cheerful  face  of  his  wife." 

"The  face  was  but  an  index  of  her  heart," 
said  he. 


NIGHT   THE   FIFTH.  171 

"  So  much  the  worse." 

"  True  enough  for  that.  Yes;  it  was  a  great 
deal  to  lose." 

"  What  has  he  gained  that  will  make  up  for 
this?" 

The  man  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  What  has  he  gained  ? "  I  repeated.  "  Can 
you  figure  it  up  ? " 

"  He's  a  richer  man,  for  one  thing." 

"  Happier  ? " 

There  was  another  shrug  of  the  shoulders. 
"  I  wouldn't  like  to  say  that." 

"  How  much  richer  ? " 

"Oh,  a  great  deal.  Somebody  was  saying, 
only  yesterday,  that  he  couldn't  be  worth  less 
than  thirty  thousand  dollars." 

"  Indeed  ?     So  much." 

"Yes." 

"How  has  he  managed  to  accumulate  so 
rapidly?" 

"  His  bar  has  a  large  run  of  custom.  And, 
you  know,  that  pays  wonderfully." 


172  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-BOOM. 

"  He  must  have  sold  a  great  deal  of  liquor  in 
six  years." 

"  And  he  has.  I  don't  think  I'm  wrong  in 
saying  that  in  the  six  years  which  have  gone 
by  since  the  '  Sickle  and  Sheaf  was  opened, 
more  liquor  has  been  drank  than  in  the  pre 
vious  twenty  years." 

"  Say  forty,"  remarked  a  man  who  had  been 
a  listener  to  what  we  said. 

"Let  it  be  forty  then,"  was  the  according 
answer. 

"How  comes  this?"  I  inquired.  "You  had 
a  tavern  here  before  the  Sickle  and  Sheaf  was 
opened." 

"  I  know  we  had,  and  several  places  besides, 
where  liquor  was  sold.  But,  everybody  far  and 
near  knew  Simon  Slade  the  miller,  and  every 
body  liked  him.  He  was  a  good  miller,  and  a 
cheerful,  social,  chatty  sort  of  a  man,  putting 
everybody  in  a  good  humor  who  came  near 
him.  So  it  became  the  talk  everywhere,  when 
he  built  this  house,  which  he  fitted  up  nicer 


NIGHT   THE   FIFTH.  1 73 

than  anything  that  had  been  seen  in  these 
parts.  Judge  Hammond,  Judge  Lyman,  Law 
yer  Wilson,  and  all  the  big-bugs  of  the  place  at 
once  patronized  the  new  tavern  ;  and,  of  course, 
everybody  else  did  the  same.  So,  you  can  easily 
see  how  he  got  such  a  run." 

"  It  was  thought,  in  the  beginning,"  said  I, 
"  that  the  new  tavern  was  going  to  do  wonders 
for  Cedafville." 

..''Yes,"  answered  the  man  laughing,  "  and  so 
it  has." 

"  In  what  respect  ? " 

"  Oh,  in  many.  It  has  made  some  men  richer, 
and  some  poorer." 

"  Who  has  it  made  poorer  ? " 

"Dozens  of  people.  You  may  always  take 
it  for  granted,  when  you  see  a  tavern-keeper 
who  has  a  good  run  at  his  bar,  getting 
rich,  that  a  great  many  people  are  getting 
poor." 

"  How  so  ? "  I  wished  to  hear  in  what  way 
the  man,  who  was  himself,  as  was  plain  to  see,  a 


174  TEN   NIGHTS   IN    A   BAR-ROOM. 

good  customer  at  somebody's  bar,  reasoned  on 
the  subject. 

"He  does  not  add  to  the  general  wealth. 
He  produces  nothing.  He  takes  money  from 
his  customers,  but  gives  them  no  article  of 
value  in  return — nothing  that  can  be  called 
property,  personal  or  real.  He  is  just  so  much 
richer  and  they  just  so  much  poorer  for  the 
exchange.  Is  it  not  so  ? " 

I  readily  assented  to  the  position  as  true,  and 
then  said— 

"  Who,  in  particular,  is  poorer  ? " 

"Judge  Hammond,  for  one." 

"Indeed  !  I  thought  the  advance  in  his  prop 
erty,  in  consequence  of  the  building  of  this 
tavern,  was  so  great,  that  he  was  reaping  a  rich 
pecuniary  harvest." 

"There  was  a  slight  advance  in  property  along 
the  street  after  the  Sickle  and  Sheaf  was  opened, 
and  Judge  Hammond  was  benefited  thereby. 
Interested  parties  made  a  good  deal  of  noise 
about  it ;  but  it  didn't  amount  to  much,  I  believe." 


NIGHT   THE    FIFTH.  175 

"What    has    caused    the    judge    to    grow 
poorer  ? " 

"  The  opening  of  this  tavern,  as  I  just  said." 
"  In  what  way  did  it  affect  him  ? " 
"  He  was  among  Blade's  warmest  supporters, 
as  soon  as  he  felt  the  advance  in  the  price  of 
building  lots,  called  him  one  of  the  most  enter 
prising  men  in  Cedarville — a  real  benefactor  to 
the  place — and  all  that  stuff.  To  set  a  good 
example  of  patronage,  he  came  over  every  day 
and  took  his  glass  of  brandy,  and  encouraged 
everybody  else  that  he  could  influence  to  do 
the  same.  Among  those  who  followed  his  ex 
ample  was  his  son  Willy.  There  was  not,  let 
me  tell  you,  in  all  the  country  for  twenty  miles 
around,  a  finer  young  man  than  Willy,  nor  one 
of  so  much  promise,  when  this  man-trap  " — he 
let  his  voice  fall,  and  glanced  around,  as  he 
thus  designated  Blade's  tavern — "  was  opened ; 
and  now,  there  is  not  one  dashing  more  reck 
lessly  along  the  road  to  ruin.  When  too  late, 
his  father  saw  that  his  son  was  corrupted,  and 


«  *  * 

176  TEN   NIGHTS    IN    A   BAR-ROOM. 

that  the  company  he  kept  was  of  a  dangerous 
character.  Two  reasons  led  him  to  purchase 
Slade's  old  mill,  and  turn  it  into  a  factory  and 
a  distillery.  Of  course,  he  had  to  make  a  heavy 
outlay  for  additional  buildings,  machinery,  and 
distilling  apparatus.  The  reasons  influencing 
him  were  the  prospect  of  realizing  a  large 
amount  of  money,  especially  in  distilling,  and 
the  hope  of  saving  Willy,  by  getting  him 
closely  engaged  and  interested  in  business.  To 
accomplish,  more  certainly,  the  latter  end,  he 
unwisely  transferred  to  his  son,  as  his  own 
capital,  twenty  thousand  dollars,  and  then 
formed  with  him  a  regular  copartnership- 
giving  Willy  an  active  business  control. 

"  But  the  experiment,  sir,"  added  the  man, 
emphatically,  "has  proved  a  failure.  I  heard 
yesterday,  that  both  mill  and  distillery  were  to 
be  shut  up,  and  offered  for  sale." 

"They  did  not  prove  as  money-making  as 
was  anticipated  ? " 

"  No,  not  under  Willy  Hammond's  manage- 


NIGHT   THE    FIFTH.  177 

ment.  He  had  made  too  many  bad  acquaint 
ances — men  who  clung  to  him  because  he  had 
plenty  of  money  at  his  command,  and  spent  it 
as  freely  as  water.  One-half  of  his  time  he  was 
away  from  the  mill,  and  while  there,  didn't  half 
attend  to  business.  I've  heard  it  said — and  I 
don't  much  doubt  its  truth — that  he's  squan 
dered  his  twenty  thousand  dollars,  and  a  great 
deal  more  besides." 

"  How  is  that  possible  ? " 

"  Well ;  people  talk,  and  not  always  at  ran 
dom.  There's  been  a  man  staying  here,  most 
of  his  time,  for  the  last  four  or  five  years,  named 
Green.  He  does  not  do  any  thing,  and  don't 
seem  to  have  any  friends  in  the  neighborhood. 
Nobody  knows  where  he  came  from,  and  he  is 
not  at  all  communicative  on  that  head  himself. 
Well,  this  man  became  acquainted  with  young 
Hammond  after  Willy  got  to  visiting  the  bar 
here,  and  attached  himself  to  him  at  once.  They 
have,  to  all  appearance,  been  fast  friends  ever 
since ;  riding  about,  or  going  off  on  gunning  or 


ITS  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

fishing  excursions  almost  every  day,  and  seclud 
ing  themselves  somewhere  nearly  every  even 
ing.  That  man,  Green,  sir,  it  is  whispered,  is  a 
gambler ;  and  I  believe  it.  Granted,  and  there 
iis  no  longer  a  mystery  as  to  what  Willy  does 
with  his  own  and  his  father's  money." 

I  readily  assented  to  this  view  of  the  case. 

"  And  so  assuming  that  Green  is  a  gambler," 
said  I,  "  he  has  grown  richer,  in  consequence  of 
the  opening  of  a  new  and  more  attrative  tavern 
in  Cedarville." 

"  Yes,  and  Cedarville  is  so  much  the  poorer 
for  all  his  gains ;  for  I've  never  heard  of  his 
buying  a  foot  of  ground,  or  in  any  way  encour 
aging  productive  industry.  He's  only  a  blood 
sucker." 

"  It  is  worse  than  the  mere  abstraction  of 
money,"  I  remarked;  "he  corrupts  his  victims, 
at  the  same  time  that  he  robs  them." 

"True." 

"  Willy  Hammond  may  not  be  his  only  vic 
tim,"  I  suggested. 


NIGHT    THE   FIFTH.  179 

"  Nor  is  he,  in  my  opinion.  IVe  been  com 
ing  to  this  bar,  nightly,  for  a  good  many  years 
— a  sorry  confession  for  a  man  to  make,  I  must 
own,"  he  added,  with  a  slight  tinge  of  shame ; 
"but  so  it  is.  Well,  as  I  was  saying,  IVe  been 
coming  to  this  bar,  nightly,  for  a  good  many 
years,  and  I  generally  see  all  that  is  going  on 
around  me.  Among  the  regular  visitors  are  at 
least  half  a  dozen  young  men,  belonging  to  our 
best  families — who  have  been  raised  with  care, 
and  well  educated.  That  their  presence  here 
is  unknown  to  their  friends,  I  am  quite  certain 
—or,  at  least,  unknown  and  unsuspected  by 
some  of  them.  They  do  not  drink  a  great  deal 
yet ;  but  all  try  a  glass  or  two.  Toward  nine 
o'clock,  often  at  an  earlier  hour,  you  will  see 
one  and  another  of  them  go  quietly  out  of  the 
bar,  through  the  sitting-room,  preceded,  or  soon 
followed,  by  Green  and  Slade.  At  any  hour  of 
the  night,  up  to  one  or  two,  and  sometimes 
three  o'clock,  you  can  see  light  streaming 

through  the  rent  in  a  curtain  drawn  before  a 
12 


180  TEN   NIGHTS    IN    A    BAR-KOOM. 

particular  window,  which  I  know  to  be  in  the 
room  of  Harvey  Green.  These  are  facts,  sir ; 
and  you  can  draw  your  own  conclusion.  I 
think  it  a  very  serious  matter." 

"  Why  does  Slade  go  out  with  these  young 
men  ? "  I  inquired.  "  Do  you  think  he  gambles 
also?" 

"If  he  isn't  a  kind  of  a  stool-pigeon  for  Har 
vey  Green,  then  I'm  mistaken  again." 

"Hardly.  He  cannot,  already,  have  become 
so  utterly  unprincipled." 

"  It's  a  bad  school,  sir,  this  tavern-keeping," 
said  the  man. 

"  I  readily  grant  you  that." 

"  And  it's  nearly  seven  years  since  he  com 
menced  to  take  lessons.  A  great  deal  may  be 
learned,  sir,  of  good  or  evil,  in  seven  years, 
especially  if  any  interest  be  taken  in  the 
studies." 

"True." 

"  And  it's  true  in  this  case,  you  may  depend 
upon  it.  Simon  Slade  is  not  the  man  he  was, 


NIGHT   THE    FIFTH.   .  t     181 

seven  years  ago.  Anybody  with  half  an  eye 
can  see  that.  He's  grown  selfish,  grasping,  un 
scrupulous,  and  passionate.  There  could  hardly 
be  a  greater  difference  between  men  than  exists 
between  Simon  Slade  the  tavern-keeper,  and 
Simon  Slade  the  miller." 

"  And  intemperate,  also  ?  "  I  suggested. 

"  He's  beginning  to  take  a  little  too  much," 
was  answered. 

"  In  that  case,  he'll  scarcely  be  as  well  off  five 
years  hence  as  he  is  now." 

"  He's  at  the  top  of  the  wheel,  some  of  us 
think." 

u  What  has  led  to  this  opinion  ? " 

"  He's  beginning  to  neglect  his  house,  for  one 
thing." 

"  A  bad  sign." 

"  And  there  is  another  sign.  Heretofore,  he 
has  always  been  on  hand,  with  the  cash,  when 
desirable  property  went  off,  under  forced  sale, 
at  a  bargain.  In  the  last  three  or  four  months, 
several  great  sacrifices  have  been  made,  but 


182  TEN   NIGHTS    IN    A    BAB-ROOM. 

Simon  Slade  showed  no  inclination  to  buy.  Put 
this  fact  against  another, — week  before  last,  he 
sold  a  house  and  lot  in  the  town  for  five  hun 
dred  dollars  less  than  he  paid  for  them,  a  year 
ago — and  for  just  that  sum  less  than  their  true 
value." 

"  How  came  that  ? "  I  inquired. 

"  Ah  !  there's  the  question !  He  wanted 
money ;  though  for  what  purpose  he  has  not 
intimated  to  any  one,  as  far  as  I  can  learn." 

"  What  do  you  think  of  it  ? " 

"  Just  this.  He  and  Green  have  been  hunt 
ing  together  in  times  past ;  but  the  professed 
gambler's  instincts  are  too  strong  to  let  him 
spare  even  his  friend  in  evil.  They  have  com 
menced  playing  one  against  the  other." 

"  Ah !  you  think  so  ? " 

"I  do ;  and  if  I  conjecture  rightly,  Simon 
Slade  will  be  a  poorer  man,  in  a  year  from  this 
time,  than  he  is  now." 

Here  our  conversation  was  interrupted.  Some 
one  asked  my  talkative  friend  to  go  and  take  a 


NIGHT    THE    FIFTH.  183 

drink,  and  he,  nothing  loath,  left  me  without 
ceremony. 

Very  differently  served  was  the  supper  I  par 
took  of  on  that  evening,  from  the  one  set  before 
me  on  the  occasion  of  my  first  visit  to  the 
"  Sickle  and  Sheaf."  The  table-cloth  was  not 
merely  soiled,  but  offensively  dirty ;  the  plates, 
cups,  and  saucers,  dingy  and  sticky ;  the  knives 
and  forks  unpolished ;  and  the  food  of  a  char 
acter  to  satisfy  the  appetite  with  a  very  few 
mouthfuls.  Two  greasy-looking  Irish  girls 
waited  on  the  table,  at  which  neither  landlord 
nor  landlady  presided.  I  was  really  hungry 
when  the  supper-bell  rang ;  but  the  craving  of 
my  stomach  soon  ceased  in  the  atmosphere  of 
the  dining-room,  and  I  was  the  first  to  leave 
the  table. 

Soon  after  the  lamps  were  lighted,  company 
began  to  assemble  in  the  spacious  bar-room, 
where  were  comfortable  seats,  with  tables, 
newspapers,  backgammon  boards,  dominoes, 
etc.  The  first  act  of  nearly  every  one  who 


184  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

came  in  was  to  call  for  a  glass  of  liquor ;  and 
sometimes  the  same  individual  drank  two  or 
three  times  in  the  course  of  half  an  hour,  on 
the  invitation  of  new  comers  who  were  con- 
vivially  inclined. 

Most  of  those  who  came  in  were  strangers  to 
me.  I  was  looking  from  face  to  face  to  see  if 
any  of  the  old  company  were  present,  when 
one  countenance  struck  me  as  familiar.  I  was 
studying  it,  in  order,  if  possible,  to  identify 
the  person,  when  some  one  addressed  him  as 
"Judge." 

Changed  as  the  face  was,  I  now  recognized 
it  as  that  of  Judge  Lyman.  Five  years  had 
marred  that  face  terribly.  It  seemed  twice  the 
former  size ;  and  all  its  bright  expression  was 
gone.  The  thickened  and  protruding  eyelids 
half  closed  the  leaden  eyes,  and  the  swollen 
lips  and  cheeks  gave  to  his  countenance  a  look 
of  all-predominating  sensuality.  True  manli 
ness  had  bowed  itself  in  debasing  submission 
to  the  bestial.  He  talked  loudly,  and  with  a 


NIGHT   THE    FIFTH.  185 

pompous  dogmatism — mainly  on  political  sub 
jects — but  talked  only  from  memory ;  for  any 
one  could  see,  that  thought  came  into  but  feeble 
activity.  And  yet,  derationalized,  so  to  speak, 
as  he  was,  through  drink,  he  had  been  chosen 
a  representative  in  Congress,  at  the  previous 
election,  on  the  anti- temperance  ticket,  and  by 
a  very  handsome  majority.  He  was  the  rum 
candidate ;  and  the  rum  interest,  aided  by  the 
easily  swayed  "  indifferents,"  swept  aside  the 
claims  of  law,  order,  temperance,  and  good 
morals ;  and  the  district  from  which  he  was 
chosen  as  a  National  Legislator  sent  him  up  to 
the  National  Councils,  and  said  in  the  act — 
"  Look  upon  him  we  have  chosen  as  our  repre 
sentative,  and  see  in  him  a  type  of  our  princi 
ples,  our  quality,  and  our  condition  as  a  com 
munity." 

Judge  Lyman,  around  whom  a  little  circle 
soon  gathered,  was  very  severe  on  the  temper 
ance  party,  which,  for  two  years,  had  opposed 
his  election,  and  which,  at  the  last  struggle, 


186  TEN   NIGHTS    IN    A    BAR-ROOM. 

showed  itself  to  be  a  rapidly  growing  organiza 
tion.  During  the  canvass,  a  paper  was  pub 
lished  by  this  party,  in  which  his  personal 
habits,  character,  and  moral  principles  were 
discussed  in  the  freest  manner,  and  certainly 
not  in  a  way  to  elevate  him  in  the  estimation 
of  men  whose  opinion  was  of  any  value. 

It  was  not  much  to  be  wondered  at,  that  he 
assumed  to  think  temperance  issues  at  the  polls 
were  false  issues;  and  that  when  temperance 
men  sought  to  tamper  with  elections,  the  lib 
erties  of  the  people  were  in  danger;  nor  that 
he  pronounced  the  whole  body  of  temperance 
men  as  selfish  schemers  and  canting  hypocrites. 

"  The  next  thing  we  will  have,"  he  exclaimed, 
warming  with  his  theme,  and  speaking  so  loud 
that  his  voice  sounded  throughout  the  room, 
and  arrested  every  one's  attention,  "will  be 
laws  to  fine  any  man  who  takes  a  chew  of  to 
bacco,  or  lights  a  cigar.  Touch  the  liberties  of 
the  people  in  the  smallest  particular,  and  all 
guarantees  are  gone.  The  Stamp  Act,  against 


NIGHT   THE   FIFTH.  187 

which  our  noble  forefathers  rebelled,  was  a 
light  measure  of  oppression  to  that  contem 
plated  by  these  worse  than  fanatics." 

"  You  are  right  there,  judge ;  right  for  once 
in  your  life,  if  you  (hie)  were  never  right  be 
fore  ! "  exclaimed  a  battered  looking  specimen 

':  I- 

of  humanity,  who  stood  near  the  speaker,  slap 
ping  Judge  Lyman  on  the  shoulder  familiarly 
as  he  spoke.  "There's  no  telling  what  they 
will  do.  There's  (hie)  my  old  uncle  Josh  Wil 
son,  who's  been  keeper  of  the  Poor-house  these 
ten  years.  Well,  they're  going  to  turn  him 
out,  if  ever  they  get  the  upper  hand  in  Bolton 
county." 

"  If  ?  That  word  involves  a  great  deal, 
Harry  ! "  said  Lyman.  "  We  mus'n't  let  them 
get  the  upper  hand.  Every  man  has  a  duty 
to  perform  to  his  country  in  this  matter,  and 
every  one  must  do  his  duty.  But  what  have 
they  got  against  your  Uncle  Joshua?  What 
has  he  been  doing  to  offend  this  righteous 
party  ? " 


188  TEN   NIGHTS    IN    A   BAR-BOOM. 

"  They've  nothing  against  him,  (hie)  I  be 
lieve.  Only,  they  say,  they're  not  going  to 
have  a  Poor-house  in  the  county  at  all." 

"  What !  Going  to  turn  the  poor  wretches 
out  to  starve?"  said  one. 

"  Oh  no  !  (hie),"  and  the  fellow  grinned,  half 
shrewdly  and  half  maliciously,  as  he  answered 

—"no,  not  that.  But,  when  they  carry  the 
day,  there'll  be  no  need  of  Poor-houses.  At 
least,  that's  their  talk — and  I  guess  maybe 
there's  something  in  it,  for  I  never  knew  a  man 
to  go  to  the  Poor-house,  who  hadn't  (hie)  rum 
to  blame  for  his  poverty.  But,  you  see,  I'm 
interested  in  this  matter.  I  go  for  keeping  up 
the  Poor-house  (hie)  ;  for  I  guess  I'm  traveling 
that  road,  and  I  shouldn't  like  to  get  to  the 
last  milestone  (hie)  and  find  no  snug  quarters 

—no  Uncle  Josh.  You're  safe  for  one  vote, 
any  how,  old  chap,  on  next  election  day ! " 
And  the  man's  broad  hand  slapped  the  mem 
ber's  shoulder  again.  "Huzza  for  the  rum 
mies  !  That's  (hie)  the  ticket !  Harry 


HUZZA  FOR  THE  RUMMIES!     THAT'S  THE  TICKET! 


NIGHT   THE   FIFTH.  189 

Grimes  never  deserts  Ms  friends.  True  as 
steel!" 

"  You're  a  trump  ! "  returned  Judge  Lyman, 
with  low  familiarity.  "Never  fear  about  the 
Poor-house  and  Uncle  Josh.  They're  all  safe." 

"But  look  here,  judge,"  resumed  the  man. 
"  It  isn't  only  the  Poor-house,  the  jail  is  to  go 
next" 

"Indeed!" 

"  Yes,  that's  their  talk ;  and  I  guess  they 
ain't  far  out  of  the  way  neither.  What  takes 
men  to  jail  ?  You  can  tell  us  something  about 
that,  judge,  for  you've  jugged  a  good  many  in 
your  time.  Didn't  pretty  much  all  of  'em  drink 
rum?  (hie.)" 

But  the  judge  answered  nothing. 

"Silence  (hie)  gives  consent,"  resumed 
Grimes.  "  And  they  say  more ;  once  give  'em 
the  upper  hand — and  they're  confident  of  beat 
ing  us — and  the  Court-house  will  be  to  let.  As 
for  judges  and  lawyers,  they'll  starve,  or  go 
into  some  better  business.  So  you  see,  (hie) 


190  TEN   NIGHTS   IN    A    BAR-ROOM. 

judge,  your  liberties  are  in  danger.  But  fight 
hard,  old  fellow;  and  if  you  must  die,  (hie) 
die  game ! " 

How  well  Judge  Lyman  relished  this  mode 
of  presenting  the  case,  was  not  very  apparent ; 
he  was  too  good  a  politician  and  office-seeker, 
to  show  any  feeling  on  the  subject,  and  thus 
endanger  a  vote.  Harry  Grimes'  vote  counted 
one,  and  a  single  ,vote  sometimes  gained  or  lost 
an  election. 

"  One  of  their  gags,"  he  said,  laughing.  "  But 
I'm  too  old  a  stager  not  to  see  the  flimsiness  of 
such  pretensions.  Poverty  and  crime  have  their 
origin  in  the  corrupt  heart,  and  their  founda 
tions  are  laid  long  and  long  before  the  first 
step  is  taken  on  the  road  to  inebriety.  It  is 
easy  to  promise  results ;  for  only  the  few  look 
at  causes,  and  trace  them  to  their  effects." 

"Rum  and  ruin,  (hie).  Are  they  not  cause 
and  effect  ? "  asked  Grimes. 

"  Sometimes  they  are,"  was  the  half  extorted 
answer. 


NIGHT   THE   FIFTH.  191 

"Oh,  Green,  is  that  you?"  exclaimed  the 
judge,  as  Harvey  Green  came  in  with  a  soft 
cat-like  step.  He  was,  evidently,  glad  of  a 
chance  to  get  rid  of  his  familiar  friend  and 
elector. 

I  turned  my  eyes  upon  the  man,  and  read  his 
face  closely.  It  was  unchanged.  The  same 
cold,  sinister  eye ;  the  same  chiselled  mouth,  so 
firm  now,  and  now  yielding  so  elastically ;  the 
same  smile  "from  the  teeth  outward"— the 
same  lines  that  revealed  his  heart's  deep,  dark 
selfishness.  If  he  had  indulged  in  drink  during 
the  five  intervening  years,  it  had  not  corrupted 
his  blood,  nor  added  thereto  a  single  degree  of 
heat. 

"  Have  you  seen  anything  of  Hammond  this 
evening?"  asked  Judge  Lyman. 

"  I  saw  him  an  hour  or  two  ago,"  answered 
Green. 

"  How  does  he  like  his  new  horse  3 " 

"  He's  delighted  with  him." 

"  What  was  the  price  ? " 


192  TEN   NIGHTS   IN    A   BAK-ROOM. 

«  Three  hundred  dollars." 

"Indeed!" 

The  judge  had  already  arisen,  and  he  and 
Green  were  now  walking  side  by  side  across 
the  bar-room  floor. 

"  I  want  to  speak  a  word  with  you,"  I  heard 
Lyman  say. 

And  then  the  two  went  out  together.  I  saw 
no  more  of  them  during  the  evening. 

Not  long  afterward,  Willy  Hammond  came 
in.  Ah !  there  was  a  sad  change  here ;  a 
change  that  in  no  way  belied  the  words  of 
Matthew  the  bar-keeper.  He  went  up  to  the 
bar,  and  I  heard  him  ask  for  Judge  Lyman. 
The  answer  was  in  so  low  a  voice  that  it  did 
not  reach  my  ear. 

With  a  quick,  nervous  motion,  Hammond  threw 
his  hand  toward  a  row  of  decanters  on  the  shelf 
behind  the  bar-keeper,  who  immediately  set  one 
of  them  containing  brandy  before  him.  From 
this  he  poured  a  tumbler  half  full,  and  drank  it 
off  at  a  single  draught,  unmixed  with  water. 


NIGHT   THE    FIFTH.  193 

He  then  asked  some  further  question,  which 
I  could  not  hear,  manifesting,  as  it  appeared, 
considerable  excitement  of  mind.  In  answer 
ing  him,  Matthew  glanced  his  eyes  upward,  as 
if  indicating  some  room  in  the  house.  The 
young  man  then  retired,  hurriedly,  through  the 
sitting-room. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  Willy  Hammond 
to-night  ? "  asked  some  one  of  the  bar-keeper. 
"  Who's  he  after  in  such  a  hurry  ? " 

"He  wants  to  see  Judge  Lyman,"  replied 
Matthew. 

"  Oh ! " 

"I  guess  they're  after  no  good,"  was  re 
marked. 

"  Not  much,  I'm  afraid." 

Two  young  men,  well  dressed,  and  with  faces 
marked  by  intelligence,  came  in  at  the  moment, 
drank  at  the  bar,  chatted  a  little  while  famil 
iarly  with  the  barkeeper,  and  then  quietly  dis 
appeared  through  the  door  leading  into  the  sit 
ting-room.  I  met  the  eyes  of  the  man  with 


194:  TEN   NIGHTS    IN    A   BAR-ROOM. 

whom  I  had  talked  during  the  afternoon,  and 
his  knowing  wink  brought  to  mind  his  sug 
gestion,  that  in  one  of  the  upper  rooms  gam 
bling  went  on  nightly,  and  that  some  of  the 
most  promising  young  men  of  the  town  had 
been  drawn,  through  the  bar  attraction,  into 
this  vortex  of  ruin.  I  felt  a  shudder  creeping 
along  my  nerves. 

The  conversation  that  now  went  on  among 
the  company  was  of  such  an  obscene  and  pro 
fane  character  that,  in  disgust,  I  went  out. 
The  night  was  clear,  the  air  soft,  and  the 
moon  shining  down  brightly.  I  walked  for 
some  time  in  the  porch,  musing  on  what  I  had 
seen  and  heard;  while  a  constant  stream  of 
visitors  came  pouring  into  the  bar-room.  Only 
a  few  of  these  remained.  The  larger  portion 
went  in  quickly,  took  their  glass,  and  then 
left,  as  if  to  avoid  observation  as  much  as  pos 
sible. 

Soon  after  I  commenced  walking  in  the 
porch,  I  noticed  an  elderly  lady  go  slowly  by, 


NIGHT   THE   FIFTH.  195 

who,  in  passing,  slightly  paused,  and  evidently 
tried  to  look  through  the  bar-room  door.  The 
pause  was  but  for  an  instant.  In  less  than  ten 
minutes  she  came  back,  again  stopped — this 
time  longer — and  again  moved  off  slowly,  until 
she  passed  out  of  sight.  I  was  yet  thinking 
about  her,  when,  on  lifting  my  eyes  from  the 
ground,  she  was  advancing  along  the  road,  but 
a  few  rods  distant.  I  almost  started  at  seeing 
her,  for  there  no  longer  remained  a  doubt  on 
my  mind,  that  she  was  some  trembling,  heart 
sick  mother,  in  search  of  an  erring  son,  whose 
feet  were  in  dangerous  paths.  Seeing  me,  she 
kept  on,  though  lingeringly.  She  went  but  a 
short  distance  before  returning ;  and  this  time, 
she  moved  in  closer  to  the  house,  and  reached  a 
position  that  enabled  her  eyes  to  range  through 
a  large  portion  of  the  bar-room.  A  nearer  in 
spection  appeared  to  satisfy  her.  She  retired 
with  quicker  steps ;  and  did  not  again  return 
during  the  evening. 

Ah !  what  a  commentary  upon  the  uses  of 

13 


196  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

an  attractive  tavern  was  here !  My  heart 
ached,  as  I  thought  of  all  that  unknown  mother 
had  suffered ;  and,  was  doomed  to  suffer.  I 
could  not  shut  out  the  image  of  her  drooping 
form  as  I  lay  upon  my  pillow  that  night ;  she 
even  haunted  me  in  my  dreams. 


NIGHT   THE   WXTH.  197 


NIGHT    THE    SIXTH. 

MORE    CONSEQUENCES. 

landlord  did  not  make  his  appearance 
on  the  next  morning  until  nearly  ten 
o'clock;  and  then  he  looked  like  a  man  who 
had  been  on  a  debauch.  It  was  eleven  before 
Harvey  Green  came  down.  Nothing  about 
him  indicated  the  smallest  deviation  from  tho 
most  orderly  habit.  Clean  shaved,  with  fresh 
linen,  and  a  face,  every  line  of  which  was 
smoothed  into  calmness,  he  looked  as  if  he  had 
slept  soundly  on  a  quiet  conscience,  and  now 
hailed  the  new  day  with  a  tranquil  spirit. 

The  first  act  of  Slade  was  to  go  behind  the 
bar  and  take  a  stiff  glass  of  brandy  and  water ; 
the  first  act  of  Green,  to  order  beefsteak  and 
coffee  for  his  breakfast.  I  noticed  the  meeting 
between  the  two  men,  on  the  appearance  of 


198  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-BOOM. 

Green.  There  was  a  slight  reserve  on  the  part 
of  Green,  and  an  uneasy  embarrassment  on  the 
part  of  Slade.  Not  even  the  ghost  of  a  smile 
was  visible  in  either  countenance.  They  spoke 
a  few  words  together,  and  then  separated  as  if 
from  a  sphere  of  mutual  repulsion.  I  did  not 
observe  them  again  in  company  during  the  day. 

"There's  trouble  over  at  the  mill,"  was  re 
marked  by  a  gentleman  with  whom  I  had  some 
business  transactions  in  the  afternoon.  He 
spoke  to  a  person  who  sat  in  his  office. 

"  Ah  !  what's  the  matter  ? "  said  the  other. 

"  All  the  hands  were  discharged  at  noon,  and 
the  mill  shut  down." 

"  How  comes  that  ? " 

"  They've  been  losing  money  from  the  start." 

"  Rather  bad  practice,  I  should  say." 

"It  involves  some  bad  practices,  no  doubt." 

"On  Willy's  part?" 

"Yes.  He  is  reported  to  have  squandered 
the  means  placed  in  his  hands,  after  a  shame 
less  fashion." 


NIGHT  THE   SIXTH.  199 

"  Is  the  loss  heavy  ? " 

"  So  it  is  said." 

"  How  much  ? " 

"  Reaching  to  thirty  or  forty  thousand  dol 
lars.  But  this  is  rumor,  and,  of  course,  an  ex 
aggeration." 

"Of  course.  No  such  loss  as  that  could 
have  been  made.  But  what  was  done  with 
the  money  ?  How  could  Willy  have  spent  it. 
He  dashes  about  a  great  deal ;  buys  fast  horses, 
drinks  rather  freely,  and  all  that ;  but  thirty 
or  forty  thousand  dollars  couldn't  escape  in 
this  way." 

At  the  moment  a  swift  trotting  horse,  bear 
ing  a  light  sulky  and  a  man,  went  by. 

"  There  goes  young  Hammond's  three  hue- 
dred  dollar  animal,"  said  the  last  speaker. 

"It  was  Willy  Hammond's  yesterday.  But 
there  has  been  a  change  of  ownership  since 
then ;  I  happen  to  know." 

"Indeed." 

"Yes.     The  man  Green,  who  has  been  loaf 


200  TfcN   NIGHTS    IN    A    BAB-ROOM. 

ing  about  Cedarville  for  the  last  few  years- 
after  no  good,  I  can  well  believe — came  into 
possession  to-day." 

"  Ah !  Willy  must  be  very  fickle- minded. 
Does  the  possession  of  a  coveted  object  so  soon 
bring  satiety  ? " 

"  There  is  something  not  clearly  understood 
about  the  transaction.  I  saw  Mr.  Hammond 
during  the  forenoon,  and  he  looked  terribly 
distressed." 

"  The  embarrassed  condition  of  things  at  the 
mill  readily  accounts  for  this." 

"True;  but  I  think  there  are  causes  of  trou 
ble  beyond  the  mere  embarrassments." 

"  The  dissolute,  spendthrift  habits  of  his 
son,"  was  suggested.  "  These  are  sufficient  to 
weigh  down  the  father's  spirits, — to  bow  him 
to  the  very  dust." 

"  To  speak  out  plainly,"  said  the  other,  "  I 
am  afraid  that  the  young  man  adds  another 
vice  to  that  of  drinking  and  idleness." 

"What?" 


NIGHT  THE   SIXTH.  201 

"  Gaming." 

"No!" 

"There  is  little  doubt  of  it  in  my  mind. 
And  it  is  further  my  opinion,  that  his  fine 
horse,  for  which  he  paid  three  hundred  dollars 
only  a  few  days  ago,  has  passed  into  the  hands 
of  this  man  Green,  in  payment  of  a  debt  con 
tracted  at  the  gaming  table." 

"You  shock  me.  Surely,  there  can  be  no 
grounds  for  such  a  belief." 

"I  have,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  the  gravest  rea 
sons  for  what  I  allege.  That  Green  is  a  pro 
fessional  gambler,  who  was  attracted  here  by 
the  excellent  company  that  assembled  at  the 
'  Sickle  and  Sheaf  in  the  beginning  of  the 
lazy  miller's  pauper-making  experiment,  I  do 
not  in  the  least  question.  Grant  this,  and  take 
into  account  the  fact  that  young  Hammond 
has  been  much  in  his  company,  and  you  have 
sufficient  cause  for  the  most  disastrous  effects." 

"If  this  be  really  so,"  observed  the  gentle 
man,  over  whose  face  a  shadow  of  concern 


202  TEN    NIGHTS    IN   A    BAR-ROOM. 

darkened,  then  Willy  Hammond  may  not  be  his 
only  victim." 

"  And  is  not,  you  may  rest  assured.  If  ru 
mor  be  true,  other  of  our  promising  young 
men  are  being  drawn  into  the  whirling  circles 
that  narrow  toward  a  vortex  of  ruin." 

In  corroboration  of  this,  I  mentioned  the 
conversation  I  had  held  with  one  of  the  fre 
quenters  of  Slade's  bar-room,  on  this  very  sub 
ject  ;  and  also  what  I  had  myself  observed  on 
the  previous  evening. 

The  man,  who  had  until  now  been  sitting 
quietly  in  a  chair,  started  up,  exclaiming  as  he 
did  so — 

"  Merciful  heaven  !  I  never  dreamed  of  this ! 
Whose  sons  are  safe  ? " 

"No  man's,"  was  the  answer  oi  the  gentle 
man  in  whose  office  we  were  sitting — "No 
man's — while  there  are  such  open  doors  to  ruin 
as  you  may  find  at  the  i  Sickle  and  Sheaf.'  Did 
not  you  vote  the  anti-temperance  ticket  at  the 
last  election  ? " 


NIGHT   THE   SIXTH.  203 

"I  did,"  was  the  answer;  "and  from  prin 
ciple." 

"  On  what  were  your  principles  based  ? "  was 
inquired. 

"On  the  broad  foundations  of  civil  lib 
erty." 

"  The  liberty  to  do  good  or  evil,  just  as  the 
individual  may  choose  ? " 

"I  would  not  like  to  say  that.  There  are 
certain  evils  against  which  there  can  be  no 
legislation  that  would  not  do  harm.  No  civil 
power  in  this  country  has  the  right  to  say  what 
a  citizen  shall  eat  or  drink." 

"  But  may  not  the  people,  in  any  community, 
pass  laws,  through  their  delegated  law-makers, 
restraining  evil-minded  persons  from  injuring 
the  common  good  ?  " 

"  Oh,  certainly — certainly." 

"And  are  you  prepared  to  affirm,  that  a 
drinking-shop,  where  young  men  are  corrupted 
aye,  destroyed,  body  and  soul — does  not  work 
an  injury  to  the  common  good  ? " 


204  TEN   NIGHTS   IN    A   BAR-KOOM. 

"  Ah !  but  there  must  be  houses  of  public 
entertainment." 

"No  one  denies  this.  But  can  that  be  a 
really  Christian  community  which  provides 
for  the  moral  debasement  of  strangers,  at  the 
same  time  that  it  entertains  them  ?  Is  it  neces 
sary  that,  in  giving  rest  and  entertainment  to 
the  traveler,  we  also  lead  him  into  tempta 
tion?" 

"Yes — but — but — it  is  going  too  far  to 
legislate  on  what  we  are  to  eat  and  drink.  It 
is  opening  too  wide  a  door  for  fanatical  oppres 
sion.  We  must  inculcate  temperance  as  a  right 
principle.  We  must  teach  our  children  the 
evils  of  intemperance,  and  send  them  out  into 
the  world  as  practical  teachers  of  order,  virtue, 
and  sobriety.  If  we  do  this,  the  reform  be 
comes  radical,  and  in  a  few  years  there  will  be 
no  bar-rooms,  for  none  will  crave  the  fiery 
poison." 

"  Of  little  value,  my  friend,  will  be,  in  far 
too  many  cases,  your  precepts,  if  temptation 


NIGHT   THE    SIXTH.  205 

invites  our  sons  at  almost  every  step  of  their 
way  through  life.  Thousands  have  fallen,  and 
thousands  are  now  tottering,  soon  to  fall. 
Your  sons  are  not  safe;  nor  are  mine.  We 
cannot  tell  the  day  nor  the  hour  when  they 
may  weakly  yield  to  the  solicitation  of  some 
companion,  and  enter  the  wide  open  door  of 
ruin.  And  are  we  wise  and  good  citizens  to 
commission  men  to  do  the  evil  work  of  entice 
ment  ?  To  encourage  them  to  get  gain  in  cor 
rupting  and  destroying  our  children  ?  To  hesi 
tate  over  some  vague  ideal  of  human  liberty 
when  the  sword  is  among  us,  slaying  our  best 
and  dearest  ?  Sir  !  while  you  hold  back  from 
the  work  of  staying  the  flood  that  is  desolating 
our  fairest  homes,  the  black  waters  are  ap 
proaching  your  own  doors." 

There  was  a  startling  emphasis  in  the  tones 
with  which  this  last  sentence  was  uttered;  and 
I  did  not  wonder  at  the  look  of  anxious  alarm 
that  it  called  to  the  face  of  him  whose  fears  it 
was  meant  to  excite. 


206  TEN    NIGHTS    IN    A    BAR-ROOM. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  sir  ? "  was  inquired. 

"  Simply,  that  your  sons  are  in  equal  danger 
with  others." 

"And  is  that  all?" 

"They  have  been  seen,  of  late,  in  the  bar 
room  of  the  '  Sickle  and  Sheaf.' " 

"Who  says  so?" 

"Twice  within  a  week  I  have  seen  them 
going  in  there,"  was  answered. 

"  Good  heavens  !     No  ! " 

"  It  is  true,  my  friend.  But  who  is  safe  ?  If 
we  dig  pits,  and  conceal  them  from  view,  what 
marvel  if  our  own  children  fall  therein  ? " 

"My  sons  going  to  a  tavern?"  The  man 
seemed  utterly  confounded.  "How  can  I  be 
lieve  it  ?  You  must  be  in  error,  sir." 

"No.  What  I  tell  you  is  the  simple  truth. 
And  if  they  go  there— — 

The  man  paused  not  to  hear  the  conclusion 
of  the  sentence,  but  went  hastily  from  the 
office. 

"We   are   beginning  to   reap   as   we    have 


NIGHT   THE    SIXTH.  207 

sown,"  remarked  the  gentleman,  turning  to  me 
as  his  agitated  friend  left  the  office.  uAs  I 
told  them  in  the  commencement  it  would  be,  so 
it  is  happening.  The  want  of  a  good  tavern 
in  Cedar ville  was  over  and  over  again  alleged 
as  one  of  the  chief  causes  of  our  want  of  thrift, 
and  when  Slade  opened  the  '  Sickle  and  Sheaf,' 
the  man  was  almost  glorified.  The  gentleman 
who  has  just  left  us  failed  not  in  laudation  of 
the  enterprising  landlord;  the  more  particularly, 
as  the  building  of  the  new  tavern  advanced  the 
price  of  ground  on  the  street,  and  made  him  a 
few  hundred  dollars  richer.  Really,  for  a  time, 
one  might  have  thought,  from  the  way  people 
went  on,  that  Simon  Slade  was  going  to  make 
every  man's  fortune  in  Cedar  ville.  But  all  that 
has  been  gained  by  a  small  advance  in  property,  is 
as  a  grain  of  sand  to  a  mountain,  compared  with 
the  fearful  demoralization  that  has  followed." 

I  readily  assented  to  this,  for  I  had  myself 
seen  enough  to  justify  the  conclusion. 

As  I  sat  in  the  bar-room  of  the  "  Sickle  and 


208  TEN    NIGHTS    IN    A   BAR-ROOM. 

Sheaf  "  that  evening,  I  noticed,  soon  after  the 
lamps  were  lighted,  the  gentleman  referred  to 
in  the  above  conversation,  whose  sons  were 
represented  as  visitors  to  the  bar,  come  in  qui 
etly,  and  look  anxiously  about  the  room.  He 
spoke  to  no  one,  and,  after  satisfying  himself 
that  those  he  sought  were  not  there,  went  out. 

"  What  sent  him  here,  I  wonder  ? "  muttered 
Slade,  speaking  partly  to  himself,  and  partly 
aside  to  Matthew,  the  bar-keeper. 

"  After  the  boys,  I  suppose,"  was  answered. 

"I  guess  the  boys  are  old  enough  to  take 
care  of  themselves." 

"  They  ought  to  be,"  returned  Matthew. 

"And  are,"  said  Slade.  "Have  they  been 
here  this  evening  ? " 

"No,  not  yet." 

While  they  yet  talked  together,  two  young 
men  whom  I  had  seen  on  the  night  before,  and 
noticed  particularly  as  showing  signs  of  intelli 
gence  and  respectability  beyond  the  ordinary 
visitors  at  a  bar-room,  came  in. 


NIGHT   THE    SIXTH.  209 

"  John,"  I  heard  Slade  say,  in  a  low,  confi 
dential  voice,  to  one  of  them,  "  your  old  man 
was  here  just  now." 

"  No  ! "  The  young  man  looked  startled — 
almost  confounded. 

"  It's  a  fact.     So  you'd  better  keep  shady." 

"What  did  he  want?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"What  did  he  say?" 

"  Nothing.  He  just  came  in,  looked  around, 
and  then  went  out." 

"His  face  was  as  dark  as  a  thunder-cloud," 
remarked  Matthew. 

"Is  No.  4  vacant?"  inquired  one  of  the 
young  men. 

"Yes." 

"  Send  us  up  a  bottle  of  wine  and  some 
cigars.  And  when  Bill  Harding  and  Harry 
Lee  come  in,  tell  them  where  they  can  find 


us." 


"  All  right,"  said  Matthew.   "  And  now,  take 
a  friend's  advice,  and  make  yourselves  scarce.'' 


210  TEN   NIGHTS    IN    A    BAR-ROOM. 

The  young  men  left  the  room  hastily. 
Scarcely  had  they  departed,  ere  I  saw  the  same 
gentleman  come  in,  whose  anxious  face  had,  a 
little  while  before,  thrown  its  shadow  over  the 
apartment.  He  was  the  father  in  search  of  his 
sons.  Again  he  glanced  around,  nervously  ;  and 
this -time  appeared  to  be  disappointed.  As  he 
entered,  Slade  went  out. 

"  Have  John  and  Wilson  been  here  this  even 
ing?"  he  asked,  coming  up  to  the  bar  and 
addressing  Matthew. 

"  They  are  not  here,"  replied  Matthew,  eva 
sively. 

"But  haven't  they  been  here  ? " 

"  They  may  have  been  here ;  I  only  came  in 
from  my  supper  a  little  while  ago." 

"I  thought  I  saw  them  entering,  only  a  mo 
ment  or  two  ago." 

"They're  not  here,  sir."  Matthew  shook  his 
head  and  spoke  firmly. 

"Where  is  Mr.  Slade?" 

"In  the  house,  somewhere." 


NIGHT   THE    SIXTH.  211 

"I  wish  you  would  ask  him  to  step  here." 
Matthew  went  out,  but  in  a  little  while  came 
back  with  word  that  the  landlord  was  not  to 
be  found. 

"  You  are  sure  the  boys  are  not  here  ?"  said 
the  man,  with  a  doubting,  dissatisfied  manner. 
"  See  for  yourself,  Mr.  Harrison  ! " 
"  Perhaps  they  are  in  the  parlor  ? " 
"Step   in,    sir,"    coolly   returned    Matthew. 
The  man  went  through  the  door  into  the  sit 
ting-room,  but  came  back  immediately. 

"  Not  there? "  said  Matthew.  The  man  shook 
his  head.  u  I  don't  think  you  will  find  them 
about  here,"  added  the  bar-keeper. 

Mr.  Harrison — this  was  the  name  by  which 
Matthew  had  addressed  him — stood  musing 
and  irresolute  for  some  minutes.  He  could  not 
be  mistaken  about  the  entrance  of  his  sons,  and 
yet  they  were  not  there.  His  manner  was 
much  perplexed.  At  length  he  took  a  seat,  in 
a  far  corner  of  the  bar-room,  somewhat  beyond 
the  line  of  observation,  evidently  with  the  pur- 

14 


212  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

pose  of  waiting  to  see  if  those  he  sought  would 
come  in.  He  had  not  been  there  long,  before 
two  young  men  entered,  whose  appearance  at 
once  excited  his  interest.  They  went  up  to 
the  bar  and  called  for  liquor.  As  Matthew  set 
the  decanter  before  them,  he  leaned  over  the 
counter,  and  said  something  in  a  whisper. 

"Where?"  was  instantly  ejaculated,  in  sur 
prise,  and  both  of  the  young  men  glanced  un 
easily  about  the  room.  They  met  the  eyes 
of  Mr.  Harrison,  fixed  intently  upon  them.  I 
do  not  think,  from  the  way  they  swallowed 
their  brandy  and  water,  that  it  was  enjoyed 
very  much. 

"  What  the  deuce  is  he  doing  here  ?"  I  heard 
one  of  them  say,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  After  the  boys,  of  course." 

"  Have  they  come  yet  ? " 

Matthew  winked  as  he  answered,  "All  safe." 

"In  No.  4?" 

"  Yes.  And  the  wine  and  cigars  all  waiting 
for  you." 


NIGHT   THE   SIXTH.  213 

"Good." 

"You'd  better  not  go  through  the  parlor. 
Their  old  man's  not  at  all  satisfied.  He  half 
suspects  they're  in  the  house.  Better  go  off 
down  the  street,  and  come  back  and  enter 
through  the  passage." 

The  young  men,  acting  on  this  hint,  at  once 
retired,  the  eyes  of  Harrison  following  them 
out. 

For  nearly  an  hour  Mr.  Harrison  kept  his 
position,  a  close  observer  of  all  that  transpired. 
I  am  very  much  in  error,  if,  before  leaving  that 
sink  of  iniquity,  he  was  not  fully  satisfied  as  to 
the  propriety  of  legislating  on  the  liquor  ques 
tion.  Nay,  I  incline  to  the  opinion,  that,  if  the 
power  of  suppression  had  rested  in  his  hands, 
there  would  not  have  been,  in  the  whole  State, 
at  the  expiration  of  an  hour,  a  single  dram- 
selling  establishment.  The  goring  of  his  ox 
had  opened  his  eyes  to  the  true  merits  of  the 
question.  While  he  was  yet  in  the  bar-room, 
young  Hammond  made  his  appearance.  His 


214:  TEN   NIGHTS    IN    A   BAR-ROOM. 

look  was  wild  and  excited.  First  he  called  for 
brandy,  and  drank  with  the  eagerness  of  a  man 
long  athirst. 

"  Where  is  Green  ? "  I  heard  him  inquire,  as 
he  set  his  glass  upon  the  counter. 

"Haven't  seen  any  thing  of  him  since  sup 
per,"  was  answered  by  Matthew. 

"  Is  he  in  his  room  ? " 

"I  think  it  probable." 

"Has  Judge  Lyman  been  about  here  to 
night?" 

"Yes.  He  spouted  here  for  half  an  hour 
against  the  temperance  party,  as  usual,  and 
then  " — Matthew  tossed  his  head  toward  the 
door  leading  to  the  sitting-room. 

Hammond  was  moving  toward  this  door, 
when,  in  glancing  around  the  room,  he  en 
countered  the  fixed  gaze  of  Mr.  Harrison — a 
gaze  that  instantly  checked  his  progress.  Re 
turning  to  the  bar,  and  leaning  over  the  coun 
ter,  he  said  to  Matthew : 

"What  has  sent  him  here  ?" 


NIGHT   THE    SIXTH.  215 

Matthew  winked  knowingly. 

"  After  the  boys  ? "  inquired  Hammond. 

"Yes." 

"Where  are  they?" 

"  Up-stairs." 

"  Does  he  suspect  this  ? " 

"  I  can't  tell.  If  he  doesn't  think  them  here 
now,  he  is  looking  for  them  to  come  in." 

"  Do  they  know  he  is  after  them  ?  " 

"  O  yes." 

"All  safe  then?" 

"  As  an  iron  chest.  If  you  want  to  see  them, 
just  rap  at  No.  4." 

Hammond  stood  for  some  minutes  leaning  on 
the  bar,  and  then,  not  once  again  looking  toward 
that  part  of  the  room  where  Mr.  Harrison  was 
seated,  passed  out  through  the  door  leading  to 
the  street.  Soon  afterward  Mr.  Harrison  de 
parted. 

Disgusted,  as  on  the  night  before,  with  the 
unceasing  flow  of  vile,  obscene,  and  profane- 
language,  I  left  my  place  of  observation  in  the 


216  TEN   NIGHTS    IN    A   BAR-ROOM. 

bar-room  and  sought  the  open  air.  The  sky 
was  unobscured  by  a  single  cloud,  and  the 
moon,  almost  at  the  full,  shone  abroad  with 
more  than  common  brightness.  I  had  not  been 
sitting  long  in  the  porch,  when  the  same  lady, 
whose  movements  had  attracted  my  attention, 
came  in  sight,  walking  very  slowly — the  de 
liberate  pace  assumed,  evidently,  for  the  pur 
pose  of  better  observation.  On  coming  oppo 
site  the  tavern,  she  slightly  paused,  as  on  the 
evening  before,  and  then  kept  on,  passing  down 
the  street,  until  she  was  beyond  observation. 

"  Poor  mother ! "  I  was  still  repeating  to 
myself,  when  her  form  again  met  my  eyes. 
Slowly  she  advanced,  and  now  came  in  nearer 
to  the  house.  The  interest  excited  in  my  mind 
was  so  strong,  that  I  could  not  repress  the  de 
sire  I  felt  to  address  her,  and  so  stepped  from 
the  shadow  of  the  porch.  She  seemed  startled, 
and  retreated  backward  several  paces. 

"  Are  you  in  search  of  any  one  ? "  I  inquired, 
respectfully. 


NIGHT   THE    SIXTH.  217 

The  woman  now  stood  in  a  position  that  let 
the  moon  shine  full  upon  her  face,  revealing 
every  feature.  She  was  far  past  the  meridian 
of  life ;  and  there  were  lines  of  suffering  and 
sorrow  on  her  fine  countenance.  I  saw  that  her 
lips  moved,  but  it  was  some  time  before  I  dis 
tinguished  the  words. 

"  Have  you  seen  my  son  to-night  ?  They  say 
he  comes  here." 

The  manner  in  which  this  was  said  caused  a 
cold  thrill  to  run  over  me.  I  perceived  that 
the  woman's  mind  wandered.  I  answered : 

"No,  ma'am;  I  haven't  seen  any  thing  of 
him." 

My  tone  of  voice  seemed  to  inspire  her  with 
confidence,  for  she  came  up  close  to  me,  and 
bent  her  face  toward  mine. 

"  It's  a  dreadful  place,"  she  whispered,  husk 
ily.  "  And  they  say  he  comes  here.  Poor  boy  ! 
He  isn't  what  he  used  to  be." 

"  It  is  a  very  bad  place,"  said  I.     "  Come  "- 
and  I  moved  a  step  or  two  in  the  direction  from 


218  TEN   NIGHTS    IN    A    BAB-BOOM. 

which  I  had  seen  her  approaching  —  "  come, 
you'd  better  go  away  as  quickly  as  pos 
sible." 

"  But  if  he's  here,"  she  answered,  not  mov 
ing  from  where  she  stood,  "  I  might  save  him, 
you  know." 

"I  am  sure  you  won't  find  him,  ma'am,"  I 
urged.  "Perhaps  he  is  home,  now." 

"Oh,  no!  no!"  And  she  shook  her  head 
mournfully.  "  He  never  comes  home  until  long 
after  midnight.  I  wish  I  could  see  inside  of 
the  bar-room.  I'm  sure  he  must  be  there." 

"  If  you  will  tell  me  his  name,  I  will  go  in 
and  search  for  him." 

After  a  moment  of  hesitation,  she  answered  : 

"His  name  is  Willy  Hammond." 

How  the  name,  uttered  so  sadly,  and  yet 
with  such  moving  tenderness  by  the  mother's 
lips,  caused  me  to  start — almost  to  tremble. 

"  If  he  is  in  the  house,  ma'am,"  said  I,  firmly, 
"  I  will  see  him  for  you."  And  I  left  her  and 
wqnt  into  the  bar. 


NIGHT   THE    SIXTH.  219 

"In  what  room  do  you  think  I  will  find 
young  Hammond  ? "  I  asked  of  the  bar-keeper. 

He  looked  at  me  curiously,  but  did  not  an 
swer.  The  question  had  come  upon  him  unan 
ticipated. 

"  In  Harvey  Green's  room  ? "  I  pursued. 

"I  don't  know,  I  am  sure.  He  isn't  in  the 
house  to  my  knowledge.  I  saw  him  go  out 
about  half  an  hour  since." 

"  Green's  room  is  No. ? " 

"  Eleven,"  he  answered. 

"  In  the  front  part  of  the  house  ? " 

"Yes." 

I  asked  no  further  question,  but  went  to  No. 
11,  and  tapped  on  the  door.  But  no  one  an 
swered  the  summons.  I  listened,  but  could  not 
distinguish  the  slightest  sound  within.  Again 
I  knocked;  but  louder.  If  my  ears  did  not 
deceive  me,  the  chink  of  coin  was  heard.  Still 
there  was  neither  voice  nor  movement. 

I  was  disappointed.  That  the  room  had  in 
mates,  I  felt  sure.  Remembering,  now,  what  1 


220  TEN    NIGHTS    IN    A    BAR-KOOM. 

had  heard  about  light  being  seen  in  this  room 
through  a  rent  in  the  curtain,  I  went  down 
stairs,  and  out  into  the  street.  A  short  dis 
tance  beyond  the  house,  I  saw,  dimly,  the 
woman's  form.  She  had  only  just  passed  in 
her  movement  to  and  fro.  Glancing  up  at  the 
window,  which  I  now  knew  to  be  the  one  in 
Green's  room,  light  through  the  torn  curtain 
was  plainly  visible.  Back  into  the  house  I 
went,  and  up  to  No.  11.  This  time  I  knocked 
imperatively ;  and  this  time  made  myself 
heard. 

"  What's  wanted  ? "  came  from  within.  I 
knew  the  voice  to  be  that  of  Harvey  Green. 

I  only  knocked  louder.  A  hurried  move 
ment  and  the  low  murmur  of  voices  was  heard 
for  some  moments ;  then  the  door  was  unlocked 
and  held  partly  open  by  Green,  whose  body  so 
filled  the  narrow  aperture  that  I  could  not  look 
into  the  room.  Seeing  me,  a  dark  scowl  fell 
upon  his  countenance. 

"  What  d'ye  want  ? "  he  inquired,  sharply. 


• 
. 

NIGHT   THE    SIXTH. 

"  Is  Mr.  Hammond  here  ?  If  so,  he  is  wanted 
down-stairs." 

"  No,  he's  not,"  was  the  quick  answer.  "  What 
sent  you  here  for  him,  hey  ? " 

"  The  fact  that  I  expected  to  find  him  in  your 
room,"  was  my  firm  answer. 

Green  was  about  shutting  the  door  in  my 
face,  when  some  one  placed  a  hand  on  his 
shoulder,  and  said  something  to  him  that  I 
could  not  hear. 

"  Who  wants  to  see  him  ? "  he  inquired  of 
me. 

Satisfied,  now,  that  Hammond  was  in  the 
room,  I  said,  slightly  elevating  my  voice : 

"  His  mother." 

The  words  were  an  "open  sesame"  to  the 
room.  The  door  was  suddenly  jerked  open, 
and  with  a  blanching  face,  the  young  man 
confronted  me. 

"  Who  says  my  mother  is  down-stairs  ? "  he 
demanded. 

"  I  come  from  her  in  search  of  you,"  I  said. 


222  TEN   NIGHTS    IN    A    BAR-ROOM. 

u  You  will  find  her  in  the  road,  walking  up  and 
down  in  front  of  the  tavern." 

Almost  with  a  bound  he  swept  by  me,  and 
descended  the  stairway  at  two  or  three  long 
strides.  As  the  door  swung  open,  I  saw,  be 
sides  Green  and  Hammond,  the  landlord  and 
Judge  Lyman.  It  needed  not  the  loose  cards 
on  the  table  near  which  the  latter  were  sitting 
to  tell  me  of  their  business  in  that  room. 

As  quickly  as  seemed  decorous,  I  followed 
Hammond.  On  the  porch  I  met  him,  coming 
in  from  the  road. 

"  You  have  deceived  me,  sir,"  said  he,  sternly 
— almost  menacingly. 

"  No,  sir  ! "  I  replied.  "  What  I  told  you 
was  but  too  true.  Look  !  There  she  is  now." 

The  young  man  sprung  around,  and  stood 
before  the  woman,  a  few  paces  distant. 

"  Mother !  oh,  mother !  what  has  brought 
you  here  ? "  he  exclaimed,  in  an  under  tone,  as 
he  caught  her  arm,  and  moved  away.  He 
spoke — not  roughly,  nor  angrily — but  with 


NIGHT   THE   SIXTH. 


respect — half  reproachfulness —  and  an  unmis 
takable  tenderness. 

"  Oh,  Willy  !  Willy  ! "  I  heard  her  answer. 
"  Somebody  said  you  came  here  at  night,  and  I 
couldn't  rest.  Oh,  dear  !  They'll  murder  you  ! 
I  know  they  will.  Don't,  oh ! " 

My  ears  took  in  the  sense  no  further,  though 
her  pleading  voice  still  reached  my  ears.  A 
few  moments,  and  they  were  out  of  sight. 

Nearly  two  hours  afterward,  as  I  was  ascend 
ing  to  my  chamber,  a  man  brushed  quickly  by 
me.  I  glanced  after  him,  and  recognized  the 
person  of  young  Hammond.  He  was  going  to 
the  room  of  Harvey  Green  I 


224  TEN   NIGHTS   IN    A   BAR-ROOM. 


T 


NIGHT    THE    SEVENTH. 

SOWING   THE    WIND. 

HE  state  of  affairs  in   Cedarville,  it  was 


plain,  from  the  partial  glimpses  I  had 
received,  was  rather  desperate.  Desperate,  I 
mean,  as  regarded  the  various  parties  brought 
before  my  observation.  An  eating  cancer  was 
on  the  community,  and  so  far  as  the  eye  could 
mark  its  destructive  progress,  the  ravages  were 
fearful.  That  its  roots  were  striking  deep,  and 
penetrating,  concealed  from  view,  in  many  un 
suspected  directions,  there  could  be  no  doubt. 
What  appeared  on  the  surface  was  but  a  milder 
form  of  the  disease,  compared  with  its  hidden, 
more  vital,  and  more  dangerous  advances. 

I  could  not  but  feel  a  strong  interest  in  some 
of  these  parties.  The  case  of  young  Hammond 
had,  from  the  first,  awakened  concern ;  and  now 


NIGHT  THE   SEVENTH.  225 

a  new  element  was  added  in  the  unlooked-for 
appearance  of  his  mother  on  the  stage,  in  a 
state  that  seemed  one  of  partial  derangement. 
The  gentleman  at  whose  office  I  met  Mr.  Har 
rison  on  the  day  before — the  reader  will  re 
member  Mr.  H.  as  having  come  to  the  "  Sickle 
and  Sheaf"  in  search  of  his  sons — was  thor 
oughly  conversant  with  the  affairs  of  the  vil 
lage,  and  I  called  upon  him  early  in  the  day  in 
order  to  make  some  inquiries  about  Mrs.  Ham 
mond.  My  first  question,  as  to  whether  he 
knew  the  lady,  was  answered  by  the  remark : 

"  Oh,  yes.    She  is  one  of  my  earliest  friends." 

The  allusion  to  her  did  not  seem  to  awaken 
agreeable  states  of  mind.  A  slight  shade  ob 
scured  his  face,  and  I  noticed  that  he  sighed 
involuntarily. 

"  Is  Willy  her  only  child  ? " 

"Her  only  living  child.  She  had  four;  an 
other  son,  and  two  daughters ;  but  she  lost  all 
but  Willy  when  they  were  quite  young.  And," 
he  added,  after  a  pause — "  it  would  have  been 


226  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

better  for  her,  and  for  Willy  too,  if  he  had  gone 
to  a  better  land  with  them." 

"  His  course  of  life  must  be  to  her  a  terrible 
affliction,"  said  I. 

"  It  is  destroying  her  reason,"  he  replied,  with 
emphasis.  "  He  was  her  idol.  No  mother  ever 
loved  a  son  with  more  self-devotion  than  Mrs. 
Hammond  loved  her  beautiful,  fine-spirited,  in 
telligent,  affectionate  boy.  To  say  that  she 
was  proud  of  him,  is  but  a  tame  expression. 
Intense  love — almost  idolatry — was  the  strong 
passion  of  her  heart.  How  tender,  how  watch 
ful  was  her  love !  Except  when  at  school,  he 
was  scarcely  ever  separated  from  her.  In  order 
to  keep  him  by  her  side,  she  gave  up  her 
thoughts  to  the  suggestion  and  maturing  of 
plans  for  keeping  his  mind  active  and  inter 
ested  in  her  society — and  her  success  was  per 
fect.  Up  to  the  age  of  sixteen  or  seventeen,  I 
do  not  think  he  had  a  desire  for  other  com 
panionship  than  that  of  his  mother.  But  this, 
you  know,  could  not  last.  The  boy's  maturing 


NIGHT   THE    SEVENTH.  227 

thought  must  go  beyond  the  home  and  social 
circle.  The  great  world,  that  he  was  soon  to 
enter,  was  before  him ;  and  through  loopholes 
that  opened  here  and  there  he  obtained  partial 
glimpses  of  what  was  beyond.  To  step  forth 
into  this  world,  where  he  was  soon  to  be  a  busy 
actor  and  worker,  and  to  step  forth  alone,  next 
came  in  the  natural  order  of  progress.  How 
his  mother  trembled  with  anxiety,  as  she  saw 
him  leave  her  side  !  Of  the  dangers  that  would 
surround  his  path,  she  knew  too  well ;  and  these 
were  magnified  by  her  fears — at  least  so  I  often 
said  to  her.  Alas  !  how  far  the  sad  reality  has 
outrun  her  most  fearful  anticipations. 

"When  Willy  was  eighteen — he  was  then 
reading  law — I  think  I  never  saw  a  young  man 
of  fairer  promise.  As  I  have  often  heard  it  re 
marked  of  him,  he  did  not  appear  to  have  a  sin 
gle  fault.  But  he  had  a  dangerous  gift — rare 
conversational  powers,  united  with  great  ur 
banity  of  manner.  Every  one  who  made  his 
acquaintance  became  charmed  with  his  society ; 

15 


228  TEN    NIGHTS    IN    A    BAR-ROOM. 

and  he  soon  found  himself  surrounded  by  a 
circle  of  young  men,  some  of  whom  were  not 
the  best  companions  he  might  have  chosen. 
Still,  his  own  pure  instincts  and  honorable 
principles  were  his  safeguard ;  and  I  never 
have  believed  that  any  social  allurements 
would  have  drawn  him  away  from  the  right 
path,  if  this  accursed  tavern  had  not  been 
opened  by  Slade." 

"  There  was  a  tavern  here  before  the  '  Sickle 
and  Sheaf  was  opened?"  said  I. 

"  Oh,  yes.  But  it  was  badly  kept,  and  the 
bar-room  visitors  were  of  the  lowest  class.  No 
respectable  young  man  in  Cedarville  would 
have  been  seen  there.  It  offered  no  tempta 
tions  to  one  moving  in  Willy's  circle.  But  the 
opening  of  the  '  Sickle  and  Sheaf '  formed  a  new 
era.  Judge  Hammond — himself  not  the  purest 
man  in  the  world,  I'm  afraid — gave  his  counte 
nance  to  the  establishment,  and  talked  of  Simon 
Slade  as  an  enterprising  man  who  ought  to  be 
encouraged.  Judge  Lyman  and  other  men  of 


NIGHT   THE    SEVENTH.  229 

position  in  Cedarville  followed  his  bad  exarru 
pie ;  and  the  bar-room  of  the  l  Sickle  and  Sheaf ' 
was  at  once  voted  respectable.  At  all  times  of 
the  day  and  evening  you  could  see  the  flower 
of  our  young  men  going  in  and  out,  sitting  in 
front  of  the  bar-room,  or  talking  hand  and 
glove  with  the  landlord,  who,  from  a  worthy 
miller,  regarded  as  well  enough  in  his  place, 
was  suddenly  elevated  into  a  man  of  impor 
tance,  whom  the  best  in  the  village  were  de 
lighted  to  honor. 

"  In  the  beginning,  Willy  went  with  the  tide, 
and,  in  an  incredibly  short  period,  was  acquir 
ing  a  fondness  for  drink  that  startled  and 
alarmed  his  friends.  In  going  in  through 
Slade's  open  door,  he  entered  the  downward 
way,  and  has  been  moving  onward  with  fleet 
footsteps  ever  since.  The  fiery  poison  inflamed 
his  mind,  at  the  same  time  that  it  dimmed  his 
noble  perceptions.  Fondness  for  mere  pleasure 
followed,  and  this  led  him  into  various  sensual 
indulgences,  and  exciting  modes  of  passing  the 


230  TEN    NIGHTS    IN    A    BAR-ROOM. 

time.  Every  one  liked  him — he  was  so  free,  so 
companionable,  and  so  generous — and  almost 
every  one  encouraged,  rather  than  repressed, 
his  dangerous  proclivities.  Even  his  father, 
for  a  time,  treated  the  matter  lightly,  as  only 
the  first  flush  of  young  life.  'I  commenced 
sowing  my  wild  oats  at  quite  as  early  an  age,' 
I  have  heard  him  say.  '  He'll  cool  off,  and  do 
well  enough.  Never  fear.'  But  his  mother 
was  in  a  state  of  painful  alarm  from  the  be 
ginning.  Her  truer  instincts,  made  doubly 
acute  by  her  yearning  love,  perceived  the  im 
minent  danger,  and  in  all  possible  ways  did  she 
seek  to  lure  him  from  the  path  in  which  he  was 
moving  at  so  rapid  a  pace.  Willy  was  always 
very  much  attached  to  his  mother,  and  her  in 
fluence  over  him  was  strong ;  but  in  this  case 
he  regarded  her  fears  as  chimerical.  The  way 
in  which  he  walked  was,  to  him,  so  pleasant, 
and  the  companions  of  his  journey  so  delight 
ful,  that  he  could  not  believe  in  the  prophesied 
evil;  and  when  his  mother  talked  to  him  in 


NIGHT   THE    SEVENTH.  231 

her  warning  voice,  and  with  a  sad  countenance, 
he  smiled  at  her  concern,  and  made  light  of 
her  fears. 

"  And  so  it  went  on,  month  after  month,  and 
year  after  year,  until  the  young  man's  sad  de 
clensions  were  the  town  talk.  In  order  to 
throw  his  mind  into  a  new  channel — to  awaken, 
if  possible,  a  new  and  better  interest  in  life — 
his  father  ventured  upon  the  doubtful  experi 
ment  we  spoke  of  yesterday :  that  of  placing 
capital  in  his  hands,  and  making  him  an  equal 
partner  in  the  business  of  distilling  and  cotton- 
spinning.  The  disastrous — I  might  say  dis 
graceful — result  you  know.  The  young  man 
squandered  his  own  capital,  and  heavily  em 
barrassed  his  father. 

"  The  effect  of  all  this  upon  Mrs.  Hammond 
has  been  painful  in  the  extreme.  We  can  only 
dimly  imagine  the  terrible  suffering  through 
which  she  has  passed.  Her  present  aberration 
was  first  visible  after  a  long  period  of  sleepless 
ness,  occasioned  by  distress  of  mind.  During 


232  TEN   NIGHTS    IN    A   BAR-ROOM. 

the  whole  of  two  weeks,  I  am  told,  she  did  not 
close  her  eyes ;  the  most  of  that  time  walking 
the  floor  of  her  chamber,  and  weeping.  Pow 
erful  anodynes,  frequently  repeated,  at  length 
brought  relief.  But,  when  she  awoke  from 
a  prolonged  period  of  unconsciousness,  the 
brightness  of  her  reason  was  gone.  Since  then, 
she  has  never  been  clearly  conscious  of  what 
was  passing  around  her,  and  well  for  her,  I 
have  sometimes  thought  it  was,  for  even  ob 
scurity  of  intellect  is  a  blessing  in  her  case. 
Ah,  me !  I  always  get  the  heart-ache,  when  I 
think  of  her." 

"  Did  not  this  event  startle  the  young  man 
from 'his  fatal  dream,  if  I  may  so  call  his  mad 
infatuation  ? "  I  asked. 

"  No.  He  loved  his  mother,  and  was  deeply 
afflicted  by  the  calamity ;  but  it  seemed  as  if 
he  could  not  stop.  Some  terrible  necessity  ap 
peared  to  be  impelling  him  onward.  If  he 
formed  good  resolutions — and  I  doubt  not  that 
he  did — they  were  blown  away  like  threads  of 


NIGHT   THE    SEVENTH. 


gossamer,  the  moment  lie  came  within  the 
sphere  of  old  associations.  His  way  to  the 
mill  was  by  the  '  Sickle  and  Sheaf;'  and  it  was 
not  easy  for  him  to  pass  there  without  being 
drawn  into  the  bar,  either  by  his  own  desire 
for  drink,  or  through  the  invitation  of  some 
pleasant  companion,  who  was  lounging  in  front 
of  the  tavern." 

"  There  may  have  been  something  even  more 
impelling  than  his  love  of  drink,"  said  I. 

"What?" 

I  related,  briefly,  the  occurrences  of  the  pre 
ceding  night. 

"  I  feared — nay,  I  was  certain — that  he  was 
in  the  toils  of  this  man !  And  yet  your  con 
firmation  of  the  fact  startles  and  confounds 
me,"  said  he,  moving  about  his  office  in  a  dis 
turbed  manner.  "  If  my  mind  has  questioned 
and  doubted  in  regard  to  young  Hammond,  it 
questions  and  doubts  no  longer.  The  word 
*  mystery '  is  not  now  written  over  the  door  of 
his  habitation.  Great  Father !  and  is  it  thus 


234  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAS-ROOM. 

that  our  young  men  are  led  into  temptation  ? 
Thus  that  their  ruin  is  premeditated,  secured  ? 
Thus  that  the  fowler  is  permitted  to  spread  his 
net  in  the  open  day,  and  the  destroyer  licensed 
to  work  ruin  in  darkness  ?  It  is  awful  to  con 
template  ! " 

The  man  was  strongly  excited. 

"Thus  it  is,"  he  continued;  "and  we  who 
see  the  whole  extent,  origin,  and  downward 
rushing  force  of  a  widely  sweeping  desolation, 
lift  our  voices  of  warning  almost  in  vain.  Men 
who  have  every  thing  at  stake — sons  to  be  cor 
rupted,  and  daughters  to  become  the  wives  of 
young  men  exposed  to  corrupting  influences- 
stand  aloof,  questioning  and  doubting  as  to  the 
expediency  of  protecting  the  innocent  from  the 
wolfish  designs  of  bad  men ;  who,  to  compass 
their  own  selfish  ends,  would  destroy  them 
body  and  soul.  We  are  called  fanatics,  ultra- 
ists,  designing,  and  all  that,  because  we  ask  our 
law -makers  to  stay  the  fiery  ruin.  Oh,  no  !  we 
must  not  touch  the  traffic.  All  the  dearest  and 


NIGHT    THE    SEVENTH.  235 

best  interests  of  society  may  suffer;  but  the 
rum-seller  must  be  protected.  He  must  be 
allowed  to  get  gain,  if  the  jails  and  poor-houses 
are  filled,  and  the  graveyards  made  fat  with 
the  bodies  of  young  men  stricken  down  in  the 
flower  of  their  years,  and  of  wives  and  mothers 
who  have  died  of  broken  hearts.  Reform,  we 
are  told,  must  commence  at  home.  We  must 
rear  temperate  children,  and  then  we  shall  have 
temperate  men.  That  when  there  are  none 
to  desire  liquor,  the  rum-seller's  traffic  will 
cease.  And  all  the  while  society's  true  bene 
factors  are  engaged  in  doing  this,  the  weak, 
the  unsuspecting,  and  the  erring  must  be  left 
an  easy  prey,  even  if  the  work  requires  for  its 
accomplishment  a  hundred  years.  Sir !  a  human 
soul  destroyed  through  the  rum-seller's  infernal 
agency,  is  a  sacrifice  priceless  in  value.  No 
considerations  of  worldly  gain  can,  for  an  in 
stant,  be  placed  in  comparison  therewith.  And 
yet  souls  are  destroyed  by  thousands  every 
year ;  and  they  will  fall  by  tens  of  thousands 


TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAB-KOOM. 

ere  society  awakens  from  its  fatal  indiffer 
ence,  and  lays  its  strong  hand  of  power  on 
the  corrupt  men  who  are  scattering  dis 
ease,  ruin,  and  death,  broadcast  over  the 
land! 

"I  always  get  warm  on  this  subject,"  he 
added,  repressing  his  enthusiasm.  "  And 
who  that  observes  and  reflects  can  help  grow 
ing  excited  ?  The  evil  is  appalling ;  and  the 
indifference  of  the  community  one  of  the  stran 
gest  facts  of  the  day." 

While  he  was  yet  speaking,  the  elder  Mr. 
Hammond  came  in.  He  looked  wretched.  The 
redness  and  humidity  of  his  eyes  showed  want 
of  sleep,  and  the  relaxed  muscles  of  his  face 
exhaustion  from  weariness  and  suffering.  He 
drew  the  person  with  whom  I  had  been  talk 
ing  aside,  and  continued  in  earnest  conversation 
with  him  for  many  minutes — often  gesticu 
lating  violently.  I  could  see  his  face,  though 
I  heard  nothing  of  what  he  said.  The  play  of 
his  features  was  painful  to  look  upon,  for  every 


NIGHT   THE    SEVENTH.  237 

changing  muscle  showed  a  new  phase  of  mental 
suffering. 

"  Try  and  see  him,  will  you  not  ? "  he  said,  as 
he  turned,  at  length,  to  leave  the  office. 

"  I  will  go  there  immediately,"  was  answered. 

"Bring  him  home,  if  possible." 

"My  very  best  efforts  shall  be  made." 

Judge  Hammond  bowed,  and  went  out  hur 
riedly. 

"  Do  you  know  the  number  of  the  room  oc 
cupied  by  the  man  Green  ? "  asked  the  gentle 
man,  as  soon  as  his  visitor  had  retired. 

"Yes.     It  is  No.  11." 

u  Willy  has  not  been  home  since  last  night. 
His  father,  at  this  late  day,  suspects  Green  to 
be  a  gambler.  The  truth  flashed  upon  him 
only  yesterday ;  and  this,  added  to  his  other 
sources  of  trouble,  is  driving  him,  so  he  says, 
almost  mad.  As  a  friend,  he  wishes  me  to  go 
to  the  i  Sickle  and  Sheaf,'  and  try  and  find 
Willy.  Have  you  seen  any  thing  of  him  this 
morning?" 


238  TEN    NIGHTS    IN   A    BAR-ROOM. 

I  answered  in  the  negative. 

"  Nor  of  Green  ? " 

"No." 

"Was  Slade  about  when  you  left  the  tav 
ern?" 

"  I  saw  nothing  of  him." 

"What  Judge  Hammond  fears  may  be  all 
too  true — that,  in  the  present  condition  of 
Willy's  affairs,  which  have  reached  the  point 
of  disaster,  his  tempter  means  to  secure  the 
largest  possible  share  of  property  yet  in  his 
power  to  pledge  or  transfer, — to  squeeze  from 
his  victim  the  last  drop  of  blood  that  remains, 
and  then  fling  him,  ruthlessly,  from  his  hands." 

"  The  young  man  must  have  been  rendered 
almost  desperate,  or  he  would  never  have  re 
turned,  as  he  did,  last  night.  Did  you  mention 
this  to  his  father?" 

"No.  It  would  have  distressed  him  the 
more,  without  effecting  any  good.  He  is 
wretched  enough.  But  time  passes,  and  none 
is  to  be  lost  now.  Will  you  go  with  me  ? " 


NIGHT   THE    SEVENTH.  239 

I  walked  to  the  tavern  with  him ;  and  we 
went  into  the  bar  together.  Two  or  three  men 
were  at  the  counter,  drinking. 

"Is  Mr.  Green  about  this  morning?"  was 
asked  by  the  person  who  had  come  in  search  of 
young  Hammond. 

"  Haven't  seen  any  thing  of  him." 

"Is  he  in  his  room ? " 

"I  don't  know." 

"  Will  you  ascertain  for  me  ? " 

"Certainly.  Frank," — and  he  spoke  to  the 
landlord's  son,  who  was  lounging  on  a  settee, 
— "  I  wish  you  would  see  if  Mr.  Green  is  in  his 


room." 


"Go  and  see  yourself.  I'm  not  your  waiter," 
was  growled  back,  in  an  ill-natured  voice. 

"In  a  moment  I'll  ascertain  for  you,"  said 
Matthew,  politely. 

After  waiting  on  some  new  customers,  who 
were  just  entering,  Matthew  went  up-stairs  to 
obtain  the  desired  information.  As  he  left  the 
bar-room,  Frank  got  up  and  went  behind  the 


24:0  TEN    NIGHTS    IN    A    BAR-ROOM. 

counter,  where  lie  mixed  himself  a  glass  of 
liquor,  and  drank  it  off,  evidently  with  real  en- 
joyment 

"Rather  a  dangerous  business  for  one  sc 
young  as  you  are,"  remarked  the  gentleman 
with  whom  I  had  come,  as  Frank  stepped  out 
of  the  bar,  and  passed  near  where  we  were 
standing.  The  only  answer  to  this  was  an  ill- 
natured  frown,  and  an  expression  of  face  which 
said  almost  as  plainly  as  words,  "  It's  none  of 
your  business." 

"  Not  there,"  said  Matthew,  now  coming  in. 

"  Are  you  certain  ? " 

"Yes,  sir." 

But  there  was  a  certain  involuntary  hesita 
tion  in  the  bar-keeper's  manner,  which  led  to  a 
suspicion  that  his  answer  was  not  in  accord 
ance  with  the  truth.  We  walked  out  together, 
conferring  on  the  subject,  and  both  concluded 
that  his  word  was  not  to  be  relied  upon. 

"What  is  to  be  done?"  was  asked. 

"  Go  to  Green's  room,"  I  replied,  "  and  knock 


NIGHT   THE    SEVENTH.  241 

at  the  door.  If  he  is  there,  he  may  answer,  not 
suspecting  your  errand." 

"  Show  me  the  room." 

I  went  up  with  him,  and  pointed  out  No.  11. 
He  knocked  lightly,  but  there  came  no  sound 
from  within.  He  repeated  the  knock ;  all  was 
silent.  Again  and  again  he  knocked,  but  there 
came  back  only  a  hollow  reverberation. 

"  There's  no  one  there,"  said  he,  returning  to 
where  I  stood,  and  we  walked  down-stairs  to 
gether.  On  the  landing,  as  we  reached  the 
lower  passage,  we  met  Mrs.  Slade.  I  had  not, 
during  this  visit  at  Cedar ville,  stood  face  to 
face  with  her  before.  Oh !  what  a  wreck  she 
presented,  with  her  pale,  shrunken  countenance, 
hollow,  lustreless  eyes,  and  bent,  feeble  body. 
I  almost  shuddered  as  I  looked  at  her.  What 
a  haunting  and  sternly  rebuking  spectre  she 
must  have  moved,  daily,  before  the  eyes  of  her 
husband. 

"Have  you  noticed  Mr.  Green  about  this 
morning  ? "  I  asked. 


242  TEN   NIGHTS    IN    A   BAR-EOOM. 

"  He  hasn't  come  down  from  his  room  yet," 
she  replied. 

"  Are  you  certain  ? "  said  my  companion.  "  I 
knocked  several  times  at  the  door  just  now,  but 
received  no  answer." 

"  What  do  you  want  with  him  ? "  asked  Mrs. 
Slade,  fixing  her  eyes  upon  us. 

"  We  are  in  search  of  Willy  Hammond ; 
and  it  has  been  suggested  that  he  is  with 
Green." 

"Knock  twice  lightly,  and  then  three  times 
more  firmly,"  said  Mrs.  Slade ;  and  as  she 
spoke,  she  glided  past  us  with  noiseless  tread. 

"  Shall  we  go  up  together  ? " 

I  did  not  object;  for,  although  I  had  no 
delegated  right  of  intrusion,  my  feelings  were 
so  much  excited  in  the  case,  that  I  went  for 
ward,  scarcely  reflecting  on  the  propriety  of  so 
doing. 

The  signal  knock  found  instant  answer. 
The  door  was  softly  opened,  and  the  unshaven 
face  of  Simon  Slade  presented  itself. 


NIGHT   THE    SEVENTH.  243 

"Mr.  Jacobs  !"  he  said,  with  surprise  in  his 
tones.  "  Do  you  wish  to  see  me  ? " 

"  No,  sir ;  I  wish  to  see  Mr.  Green,"  and  with 
a  quick,  firm  pressure  against  the  door,  he 
pushed  it  wide  open.  The  same  party  was 
there  that  I  had  seen  on  the  night  before, — 
Green,  young  Hammond,  Judge  Lyman,  and 
Slade,  On  the  table  at  which  the  three  former 
were  sitting,  were  cards,  slips  of  paper,  an  ink 
stand  and  pens,  and  a  pile  of  bank-notes.  On 
a  side-table,  or,  rather,  butler's  tray,  were  bot 
tles,  decanters,  and  glasses. 

"Judge  Lyman  !  Is  it  possible  ?"  exclaimed 
Mr.  Jacobs,  the  name  of  my  companion :  "  I  did 
not  expect  to  find  you  here." 

Green  instantly  swept  his  hands  over  the 
table  to  secure  the  money  and  bills  it  con 
tained  ;  but,  ere  he  had^accomplished  his  pur 
pose,  young  Hammond  grappled  three  or  four 
narrow  strips  of  paper,  and  hastily  tore  them 
into  shreds. 
*  "  You're  a  cheating  scoundrel ! "  cried  Green, 

16 


244  TEN   NIGHTS   IN    A   BAK-ROOM. 

fiercely,  thrusting  his  hand  into  his  bosom  as  if 
to  draw  from  thence  a  weapon ;  but  the  words 
were  scarcely  uttered,  ere  Hammond  sprung 
upon  him  with  the  fierceness  of  a  tiger,  bearing 
him  down  upon  the  floor.  Both  hands  were 
already  about  the  gambler's  neck,  and,  ere  the 
bewildered  spectators  could  interfere,  and  drag 
him  off,  Green  was  purple  in  the  face,  and 
nearly  strangled. 

"  Call  me  a  cheating  scoundrel ! "  said  Ham 
mond,  foaming  at  the  mouth,  as  he  spoke, — 
"Me !  whom  you  have  followed  like  a  thirsty 
bloodhound.  Me !  whom  you  have  robbed, 
and  cheated,  and  debased  from  the  beginning  ! 
Oh !  for  a  pistol  to  rid  the  earth  of  the  black 
est-hearted  villain  that  walks  its  surface.  Let 
me  go,  gentlemen  !  I  have  nothing  left  in  the 
world  to  care  for, — there  is  no  consequence  I 
fear.  Let  me  do  society  one  good  service  be 
fore  I  die!" 

And,  with  one  vigorous  effort,  he  swept  him 
self  clear  of  the  hands  that  were  pinioning  him, 


"  WILLY  HAMMOND  MURDERED  BY  THE  GAMBLER,  HARVEY  GREEN. 


NIGHT    THE    SEVENTH.  245 

and  sprung  again  upon  the  gambler  with  the 
fierce  energy  of  a  savage  beast.  By  this  time, 
Green  had  got  his  knife  free  from  its  sheath, 
and,  as  Hammond  was  closing  upon  him  in  his 
blind  rage,  plunged  it  into  his  side.  Quick 
almost  as  lightning,  the  knife  was  withdrawn, 
and  two  more  stabs  inflicted  ere  we  could  seize 
and  disarm  the  murderer.  As  we  did  so,  Willy 
Hammond  fell  over  with  a  deep  groan,  the 
blood  flowing  from  his  side. 

In  the  terror  and  excitement  that  followed, 
Green  rushed  from  the  room.  The  doctor,  who 
was  instantly  summoned,  after  carefully  ex 
amining  the  wound,  and  the  condition  of  the 
unhappy  young  man,  gave  it  as  his  opinion 
that  he  was  fatally  injured. 

Oh  !  the  anguish  of  the  father,  who  had 
quickly  heard  of  the  dreadful  occurrence, 
when  this  announcement  was  made.  I  never 
saw  such  fearful  agony  in  any.  human  coun 
tenance  The  calmest  of  all  the  anxious 
group  was  Willy  himself.  On  his  father's 


246  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

face  his  eyes  were  fixed  as  if  by  a  kind  of  fas 
cination. 

"Are  you  in  much  pain,  my  poor  boy!" 
sobbed  the  old  man,  stooping  over  him,  until 
his  long  white  hair  mingled  with  the  damp 
locks  of  the  sufferer. 

"Not  much,  father,"  was  the  whispered  re 
ply.  "Don't  speak  of  this  to  mother,  yet.  I'm 
afraid  it  will  kill  her." 

What  could  the  father  answer  ?  Nothing ! 
And  he  was  silent. 

"Does  she  know  of  it?"  A  shadow  went 
over  his  face. 

Mr.  Hammond  shook  his  head. 

Yet,  even  as  he  spoke,  a  wild  cry  of  distress 
was  heard  below.  Some  indiscreet  person  had 
borne  to  the  ears  of  the  mother  the  fearful  news 
about  her  son,  and  she  had  come  wildly  flying 
toward  the  tavern,  and  was  just  entering. 

"  It  is  my  poor  mother,"  said  Willy,  a  flush 
coming  into  his  pale  face.  "  Who  could  have 
told  her  of  this?" 


NIOHT   THE    SEVENTH.  247 

Mr.  Hammond  started  for  the  door,  but  ere 
he  had  reached  it,  the  distracted  mother  en 
tered. 

"Oh!  Willy,  my  boy!  my  boy!"  she  ex< 
claimed,  in  tones  of  anguish  that  made  the 
heart  shudder.  And  she  crouched  down  on 
the  floor,  the  moment  she  reached  the  bed 
whereon  he  lay,  and  pressed  her  lips — oh,  so 
tenderly  and  lovingly  ! — to  his. 

"  Dear  mother !     Sweet   mother  !     Best   of 
mothers ! "     He  even  smiled  as  he  said  this ; 
and,  into  the   face  that  now  bent  over  him, 
looked  up  with  glances  of  unutterable  fond 
ness. 

«  Oh,  Willy  !  Willy  !  Willy  !  my  son,  my 
son ! "  And  again  her  lips  were  laid  closely  to 
his. 

Mr.  Hammond  now  interfered,  and  endeav 
ored  to  remove  his  wife,  fearing  for  the  conse 
quence  upon  his  son. 

"Don't,  father!"  said  Willy;  "let  her  re 
main.  I  am  not  excited  nor  disturbed.  I  am 


248  TEN   NIGHTS    IN    A   BAK-ROOM. 

glad  that  she  is  here,  now.  It  will  be  best  for 
us  both." 

"  Yon  must  not  excite  him,  dear,"  said  Mr. 
Hammond — "  he  is  very  weak." 

"  I'll  not  excite  him,"  answered  the  mother. 
"  I'll  not  speak  a  word.  There,  love  " — and  she 
laid  her  fingers  softly  upon  the  lips  of  her  son 
— "don't  speak  a  single  word." 

For  only  a  few  moments  did  she  sit  with  the 
quiet  formality  of  a  nurse,  who  feels  how  much 
depends  on  the  repose  of  her  patient.  Then 
she  began,  weeping,  moaning,  and  wringing  her 
hands. 

"Mother!"  The  feeble  voice  of  Willy 
stilled,  instantly,  the  tempest  of  feeling. 
"  Mother,  kiss  me  ! " 

She  bent  down  and  kissed  him. 

"  Are  you  there,  mother  ? "  His  eyes  moved 
about,  with  a  straining  motion. 

"Yes,  love,  here  I  am." 

"I  don't  see  you,  mother.  It's  getting  so 
dark.  Oh,  mother  !  mother  ! "  he  shouted  sud- 


NIGHT   THE    SEVENTH.  249 

denly,  starting  up  and  throwing  himself  for 
ward  upon  her  bosom — "  save  me  !  save  me !  " 

How  quickly  did  the  mother  clasp  her  arms 
around  hinp — how  eagerly  did  she  strain  him 
to  her  bosom  !  The  doctor,  fearing  the  worst 
consequences,  now  came  forward,  and  endeav 
ored  to  release  the  arms  of  Mrs.  Hammond,  but 
she  resisted  every  attempt  to  do  so. 

"  I  will  ,save  you,  my  son,"  she  murmured  in 
the  ear  of  the  young  man.  "Your  mother 
will  protect  you.  Oh !  if  you  had  never  left 
her  side,  nothing  on  earth  could  have  done  you 
harm." 

"  He  is  dead  ! "  I  heard  the  doctor  whisper ; 
and  a  thrill  of  horror  went  through  me.  The 
words  reached  the  ears  of  Mr.  Hammond,  and 
his  groan  was  one  of  almost  mortal  agony. 

"  Who  says  he  is  dead  ? "  came  sharply  from 
the  lips  of  the  mother,  as  she  pressed  the  form 
of  her  child  back  upon  the  bed  from  which  he 
had  sprung  to  her  arms,  and  looked  wildly 
upon  his  face.  One  long  scream  of  horror  told 


250  TEN  NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

of  her  convictions,  and  she  fell,  lifeless,  across 
the  body  of  her  dead  son ! 

All  in  the  room  believed  that  Mrs.  Hammond 
had  only  fainted.  But  the  doctor's  perplexed, 
troubled  countenance,  as  he  ordered  her  carried 
into  another  apartment,  and  the  ghastliness  of 
her  face  when  it  was  upturned  to  the  light, 
suggested  to  every  one  what  proved  to  be  true. 
Even  to  her  obscured  perceptions,  the  con 
sciousness  that  her  son  was  dead  came  with  a 
terrible  vividness — so  terrible,  that  it  extin 
guished  her  life. 

Like  fire  among  dry  stubble  ran  the  news  of 
this  fearful  event  through  Cedarville.  The 
whole  town  was  wild  with  excitement.  The 
prominent  fact,  that  Willy  Hammond  had  been 
murdered  by  Green,  whose  real  profession  was 
known  by  many,  and  now  declared  to  all,  was 
on  every  tongue ;  but  a  hundred  different  and 
exaggerated  stories  as  to  the  cause  and  the  par 
ticulars  of  the  event  were  in  circulation.  By 
the  time  preparations  to  remove  the  dead 


'  ONE   LONG  SCREAM  OF   HORROR,  AND  SHE  FELL,  LIFELESS,  ACROSS  THE 
BODY   OF   HER  DEAD  SON." 


NIGHT    THE    SEVENTH.  251 

bodies  of  mother  and  son  from  the  "Sickle 
and  Sheaf  "  to  the  residence  of  Mr.  Hammond 
were  completed,  hundreds  of  people,  men, 
women,  and  children,  were  assembled  around 
the  tavern ;  and  many  voices  were  clamorous 
for  Green ;  while  some  called  out  for  Judge 
Lyman,  whose  name,  it  thus  appeared,  had  be 
come  associated  in  the  minds  of  the  people  with 
the  murderous  affair.  The  appearance,  in  the 
midst  of  this  excitement,  of  the  two  dead 
bodies,  borne  forth  on  settees,  did  not  tend  to 
allay  the  feverish  state  of  indignation  that  pre 
vailed.  From  more  than  one  voice,  I  heard  the 
words,  "  Lynch  the  scoundrel  ! " 

A  part  of  the  crowd  followed  the  sad  pro 
cession,  while  the  greater  portion,  consisting  of 
men,  remained  about  the  tavern.  All  bodies, 
no  matter  for  what  purpose  assembled,  quickly 
find  leading  spirits  who,  feeling  the  great  mov 
ing  impulse,  give  it  voice  and  direction.  It 
was  so  in  this  case.  Intense  indignation  against 
Green  was  firing  every  bosom ;  and  when  a  man 


252  TEN    NIGHTS    IN    A    BAB-ROOM. 

elevated  himself  a  few  feet  above  the  agitated 
mass  of  humanity,  and  cried  out : 

"The  murderer  must  not  escape !" 

A  wild  responding  shout,  terrible  in  its 
fierceness,  made  the  air  quiver. 

"  Let  ten  men  be  chosen  to  search  the  house 
and  premises,"  said  the  leading  spirit. 

"  Ay  !  ay  !  Choose  them  !  Name  them  ! " 
was  quickly  answered. 

Ten  men  were  called  by  name,  who  instantly 
stepped  in  front  of  the  crowd. 

"  Search  everywhere  ;  from  garret  to  cellar  ; 
from  hayloft  to  dog-kennel.  Everywhere  ! 
everywhere  ! "  cried  the  man. 

And  instantly  the  ten  men  entered  the 
house.  For  nearly  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  the 
crowd  waited  with  increasing  signs  of  im 
patience.  These  delegates  at  length  appeared, 
with  the  announcement  that  Green  was  no 
where  about  the  premises.  It  was  received 
with  a  groan. 

"Let  no  man  in  Cedarville  do  a  stroke  of 


NIGHT   THE    SEVENTH.  253 

work  until  the  murderer  is  found,"  now  shouted 
the  individual  who  still  occupied  his  elevated 
position. 

"  Agreed  !  agreed  !  No  work  in  Cedarville 
until  the  murderer  is  found,"  rang  out  fiercely. 

"  Let  all  who  have  horses,  saddle  and  bridle 
them  as  quickly  as  possible,  and  assemble, 
mounted,  at  the  Court  House." 

About  fifty  men  left  the  crowd  hastily. 

"Let  the  crowd  part  in  the  centre,  up  and 
down  the  road,  starting  from  a  line  in  front 
of  me." 

This  order  was  obeyed. 

"  Separate  again,  taking  the  centre  of  the 
road  for  a  line." 

Four  distinct  bodies  of  men  stood  now  in 
front  of  the  tavern. 

"  Now  search  for  the  murderer  in  every  nook 
and  corner,  for  a  distance  of  three  miles  from 
this  spot ;  each  party  keeping  to  its  own  sec 
tion  ;  the  road  being  one  dividing  line,  and  a 
line  through  the  centre  of  this  tavern  the 


254  TEN   NIGHTS    IN    A    BAR-ROOM. 

other.  The  horsemen  will  pursue  the  wretch 
to  a  greater  distance." 

More  than  a  hundred  acquiescing  voices  re 
sponded  to  this,  as  the  man  sprung  down  from 
his  elevation  and  mingled  with  the  crowd, 
which  began  instantly  to  move  away  on  its 
appointed  mission. 

As  the  hours  went  by,  one,  and  another,  and 
another,  of  the  searching  party  returned  to  the 
village,  wearied  with  their  efforts,  or  confident 
that  the  murderer  had  made  good  his  escape. 
The  horsemen,  too,  began  to  come  in,  during 
the  afternoon,  and  by  sundown,  the  last  of 
them,  worn  out  and  disappointed,  made  their 
appearance. 

For  hours  after  the  exciting  events  of  the 
forenoon,  there  were  but  few  visitors  at  the 
"  Sickle  and  Sheaf."  Slade,  who  did  not  show 
himself  among  the  crowd,  came  down  soon 
after  its  dispersion.  He  had  shaved  and  put 
on  clean  linen ;  but  still  bore  many  evidences 
of  a  night  spent  without  sleep.  His  eyes  were 


NIGHT  THE   SEVENTH.  255 

red  and  heavy  and  the  eyelids  swollen;  while 
his  skin  was  relaxed  and  colorless.  As  he 
descended  the  stairs,  I  was  walking  in  the 
passage.  He  looked  shy  at  ine,  and  merely 
nodded.  Guilt  was  written  plainly  on  his 
countenance ;  and  with  it  was  blended  anxiety 
and  alarm.  That  he  might  be  involved  in 
trouble,  he  had  reason  to  fear ;  for  he  was  one 
of  the  party  engaged  in  gambling  in  Green's 
room,  as  both  Mr.  Jacobs  and  I  had  wit 
nessed. 

"  This  is  dreadful  business,"  said  he,  as  we 
met,  face  to  face,  half  an  hour  afterward.  He 
did  not  look  me  steadily  in  the  eyes. 

"  It  is  horrible  ! "  I  answered.  "  To  corrupt 
and  ruin  a  young  man,  and  then  murder  him ! 
There  are  few  deeds  in  the  catalogue  of  crime 
blacker  than  this." 

ult  was  done  in  the  heat  of  passion,"  said 
the  landlord,  with  something  of  apology  in  his 
manner.  "  Green  never  meant  to  kill  him." 

"  In    peaceful   intercourse  with   his   fellow- 


256  TEN   NIGHTS    IN    A   BAR-ROOM. 

men,  why  did  lie  carry  a  deadly  weapon  ? 
There  was  murder  in  his  heart,  sir." 

"  That  is  speaking  very  strongly." 

"Not  stronger  than  facts  will  warrant,"  I  re 
plied.  u  That  Green  is  a  murderer  in  heart,  it 
needed  not  this  awful  consummation  to  show. 
With  a  cool,  deliberate  purpose,  he  has  sought, 
from  the  beginning,  to  destroy  young  Ham 
mond." 

"  It  is  hardly  fair,"  answered  Slade,  "  in  the 
present  feverish  excitement  against  Green,  to 
assume  such  a  questionable  position.  It  may 
do  him  a  great  wrong." 

u  Did  Willy  Hammond  speak  only  idle  words, 
when  he  accused  Green  of  having  followed  him 
like  a  thirsty  bloodhound  ? — of  having  robbed, 
and  cheated,  and  debased  him  from  the  be* 
ginning  ? " 

"  He  was  terribly  excited  at  the  mo 
ment." 

"  Yet,"  said  I,  "  no  ear  that  heard  his  words 
could  for  an  instant  doubt  that  they  were 


NIGHT   THE    SEVENTH.  25t 

truthful  utterances,  wrung  from  a  maddened 
heart." 

My  earnest,  positive  manner  had  its  effect 
upon  Slade.  He  knew  that  what  I  asserted, 
the  whole  history  of  Green's  intercourse  with 
young  Hammond  would  prove;  and  he  had, 
moreover,  the  guilty  consciousness  of  being  a 
party  to  the  young  man's  ruin.  His  eyes 
cowered  beneath  the  steady  gaze  I  fixed  upon 
him.  I  thought  of  him  as  one  implicated  in 
the  murder,  and  my  thought  must  have  been 
visible  in  my  face. 

"  One  murder  will  not  justify  another,"  said 
he. 

"  There  is  no  justification  for  murder  on  any 
plea,"  was  my  response. 

"  And  yet,  if  these  infuriated  men  find  Green, 
they  will  murder  him." 

"  I  hope  not.  Indignation  at  a  horrible 
crime  has  fearfully  excited  the  people.  But  I 
think  their  sense  of  justice  is  strong  enough  to 
prevent  the  consequences  you  apprehend." 


258  TEN    NIGHTS    IN    A    BAR-ROOM. 

"I' would  not  like  to  be  in  Green's  shoes," 
eaid  the  landlord,  with  an  uneasy  movement. 

I  looked  him  closely  in  the  face.  It  was  the 
punishment  of  the  man's  crime  that  seemed  so 
fearful  in  his  eyes ;  not  the  crime  itself.  Alas ! 
how  the  corrupting  traffic  had  debased  him. 

My  words  were  so  little  relished  by  Slade, 
that  he  found  some  ready  excuse  to  leave  me. 
I  saw  but  little  more  of  him  during  the  day. 

As  evening  began  to  fall,  the  gambler's  un 
successful  pursuers,  one  after  another,  found 
their  way  to  the  tavern,  and  by  the  time  night 
had  fairly  closed  in,  the  bar-room  was  crowded 
with  excited  and  angry  men,  chafing  over  their 
disappointment,  and  loud  in  their  threats  of 
vengeance.  That  Green  had  made  good  his 
escape,  was  now  the  general  belief;  and  the 
stronger  this  conviction  became,  the  more 
steadily  did  the  current  of  passion  begin  to 
set  in  a  new  direction.  It  had  become  known 
to  every  one  that,  besides  Green  and  young 
Hammond,  Judge  Lyman  and  Slade  were  in 


NIGHT   THE    SEVENTH.  259 

the  room  engaged  in  playing  cards.  The 
merest  suggestion  as  to  the  complicity  of  these 
two  men  with  Green  in  ruining  Hammond,  and 
thus  driving  him  mad,  was  enough  to  excite 
strong  feeling  against  them ;  and  now  that  the 
mob  had  been  cheated  of  its  victim,  its  pent- 
up  indignation  sought  eagerly  some  new  chan 
nel. 

"  Where's  Slade  ? "  some  one  asked,  in  a  loud 
voice,  from  the  centre  of  the  crowded  bar-room. 
A  Why  does  he  keep  himself  out  of  sight  ? " 

"  Yes ;  where's  the  landlord  ? "  half  a  dozen 
voices  responded. 

"Did  he  go  on  the  hunt?"  some  one  in 
quired. 

"  No  ! "  "  No ! "  "  No ! "  ran  round  the  room. 
"  Not  he." 

"  And  yet,  the  murder  was  committed  in  his 
own  house,  and  before  his  own  eyes ! " 

"Yes,  before  his  own  eyes!"  repeated  one 
and  another,  indignantly. 

"Where's   Slade?      Where's   the  landlord? 

17 


260  TEN  NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

Has  anybody  seen  him  to-night?  Matthew, 
where' s  Simon  Slade  2 " 

From  lip  to  lip  passed  these  interrogations ; 
while  the  crowd  of  men  became  agitated,  and 
swayed  to  and  fro. 

"  I  don't  think  he's  home,"  answered  the  bar 
keeper,  in  a  hesitating  manner,  and  with  visible 
alarm. 

"  How  long  since  he  was  here  ? " 

"  I  haven't  seen  him  for  a  couple  of  hours." 

"  That's  a  lie  ! "  was  sharply  said. 

"  Who  says  it's  a  lie  ? "  Matthew  affected  to 
be  strongly  indignant. 

"I  do!"  And  a  rough,  fierce-looking  man 
confronted  him. 

"What  right  have  you  to  say  so?"  asked 
Matthew,  cooling  off  considerably. 

"  Because  you  lie ! "  said  the  man,  boldly. 
"You've  seen  him  within  a  less  time  than 
half  an  hour,  and  well  you  know  it.  Now, 
if  you  wish  to  keep  yourself  out  of  this  trou 
ble,  answer  truly.  We  are  in  no  mood  to 


NIGHT  THE   SEVENTH.  261 

deal  with  liars  or  equivocators.  Where  is 
Simon  Slade?" 

"  I  do  not  know,"  replied  Matthew,  firmly. 

"Is  he  in  the  house?" 

"  He  may  be,  or  he  may  not  be.  I  am  just 
as  ignorant  of  his  exact  whereabouts  as.  you 


are." 


"  Will  you  look  for  him  ? " 

Matthew  stepped  to  the  door,  opening  from 
behind  the  bar,  and  called  the  name  of  Frank. 

"  What's  wanted  ? "  growled  the  boy. 

"  Is  your  father  in  the  house  ? " 

"I  don't  know,  nor  don't  care,"  was  re 
sponded  in  the  same  ungracious  manner. 

"  Some  one  bring  him  into  the  bar-room,  and 
we'll  see  if  we  can't  make  him  care  a  little." 

The  suggestion  was  no  sooner  made,  than 
two  men  glided  behind  the  bar,  and  passed 
into  the  room  from  which  the  voice,  of  Frank 
had  issued.  A  moment  after  they  reappeared, 
each  grasping  an  arm  of  the  boy,  and  bearing 
him  like  a  weak  child  between  them.  He 


262  TEN  NIGHTS   IN   A   BA.R-ROOM. 

looked  thoroughly  frightened  at  this  unlooked- 
for  invasion  of  his  liberty. 

"  See  here,  young  man."  One  of  the  leading 
spirits  of  the  crowd  addressed  him,  as  soon  as 
he  was  brought  in  front  of  the  counter,  "  If 
you  wish  to  .keep  out  of  trouble,  answer  our 
questions  at  once,  and  to  the  point.  We  are  in 
no  mood  for  trifling.  Where's  your  father  ? " 

"Somewhere  about  the  house,  I  believe," 
Frank  replied,  in  an  humbled  tone.  He  was  no 
little  scared  at  the  summary  manner  with  which 
he  had  been  treated. 

"  How  long  since  you  saw  him  ? " 

"  Not  long  ago." 

"Ten  minutes?" 

"  No :  nearly  half  an  hour." 

"  Where  was  he  then  ? " 

"  He  was  going  up-stairs." 

"  Very  well,  we  want  him.  See  him,  and  tell 
him  so." 

Frank  went  into  the  house,  but  came  back 
into  the  bar-room  after  an  absence  of  nearly  five 


NIGHT   THE    SEVENTH.  263 

minutes,  and  said  that  he  could  not  find  his 
father  anywhere. 

u  Where  is  he  then  ? "  was  angrily  demanded. 

"Indeed,  gentlemen,  I  don't  know."  Frank's 
anxious  look  and  frightened  manner  showed 
that  he  spoke  truly. 

"  There's  something  wrong  about  this — some 
thing  wrong — wrong,"  said  one  of  the  men. 
"  Why  should  he  be  absent  now  ?  Why  has 
he  taken  no  steps  to  secure  the  man  who  com 
mitted  a  murder  in  his  own  house,  and  before 
his  own  eyes  ? " 

"  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  he  aided  him  to  es 
cape,"  said  another,  making  this  serious  charge 
with  a  restlessness  and  want  of  evidence  that 
illustrated  the  reckless  and  unjust  spirit  by 
which  a  mob  is  ever  governed. 

"No  doubt  of  it  in  the  least!"  was  the 
quick  and  positive  response.  And  at  once  this 
erroneous  conviction  seized  upon  every  one. 
Not  a  single  fact  was  presented.  The  simple, 
bold  assertion,  that  no  doubt  existed  in  the 


264  TEN    NIGHTS   IN   A   BAB-BOOM. 

mind  of  one  man  as  to  Slade's  having  aided 
Green  to  escape,  was  sufficient  for  the  unre 
flecting  mob. 

"  Where  is  he  ?  Where  is  he  ?  Let  us  find 
him.  He  knows  where  Green  is,  and  he  shall 
reveal  the  secret." 

This  was  enough.  The  passions  of  the  crowd 
were  at  fever  heat  again.  Two  or  three  men 
were  chosen  to  search  the  house  and  premises, 
while  others  dispersed  to  take  a  wider  range. 
One  of  the  men  who  volunteered  to  go  over  the 
house  was  a  person  named  Lyon,  with  whom  I 
had  formed  some  acquaintance,  and  several 
times  conversed  with  on  the  state  of  affairs  in 
Cedarville.  He  still  remained  too  good  a  cus 
tomer  at  the  bar.  I  left  the  bar  at  the  same 
time  that  he  did,  and  went  up  to  my  room. 
We  walked  side  by  side,  and  parted  at  my 
door,  I  going  in,  and  he  continuing  on  to  make 
his  searches.  I  felt,  of  course,  anxious  and 
much  excited,  as  well  in  consequence  of  the 
events  of  the  day,  as  the  present  aspect  of 


NIGHT   THE   SEVENTH.  265 

things.  My  head  was  aching  violently,  and  in 
the  hope  of  getting  relief,  I  laid  myself  down. 
I  had  already  lighted  a  candle,  and  turned  the 
key  in  my  door  to  prevent  intrusion.  Only  for 
a  short  time  did  I  lie,  listening  to  the  hum  of 
voices  that  came  with  a  hoarse  murmur  from 
below,  to  the  sound  of  feet  moving  along  the 
passages,  and  to  the  continual  opening  and 
shutting  of  doors,  when  something  like  sup 
pressed  breathing  reached  my  ears.  I  started 
up  instantly,  and  listened ;  but  my  quickened 
pulses  were  now  audible  to  my  own  sense,  and 
obscured  what  was  external. 

"It  is  only  imagination,"  I  said  to  myself. 
Still,  I  sat  upright,  listening. 

Satisfied,  at  length,  that  all  was  mere  fancy, 
I  laid  myself  back  on  the  pillow,  and  tried  to 
turn  my  thoughts  away  from  the  suggested 
idea  that  some  one  was  in  the  room.  Scarcely 
had  I  succeeded  in  this,  when  my  heart  gave  a 
new  impulse,  as  a  sound  like  a  movement  fell 
upon  my  ears. 


266  TEN    NIGHTS    IN    A    BAK-ROOM. 

"  Mere  fancy  !  "  I  said  to  myself,  as  some  one 
went  past  the  door  at  the  moment.  "  My  mind 
is  over-excited." 

Still  I  raised  my  head,  supporting  it  with 
my  hand,  and  listened,  directing  my  attention 
inside,  and  not  outside  of  the  room.  I  was 
about  letting  my  head  fall  back  upon  the  pillow, 
when  a  slight  cough,  so  distinct  as  not  to  be 
mistaken,  caused  me  to  spring  to  the  floor,  and 
look  under  the  bed.  The  mystery  was  ex 
plained.  A  pair  of  eyes  glittered  in  the  can 
dlelight.  The  fugitive,  Green,  was  under  my 
bed.  For  some  moments  I  stood  looking  at 
him,  so  astonished  that  I  had  neither  utterance 
nor  decision;  while  he  glared  at  me  with  a 
fierce  defiance.  I  saw  that  he  was  clutching  a 
revolver. 

"  Understand  ! "  he  said,  in  a  grating  whis 
per,  "  that  I  am  not  to  be  taken  alive." 

I  let  the  blanket,  which  had  concealed  him 
from  view,  fall  from  my  hand,  and  then  tried  to 
collect  my  thoughts. 


NIGHT    THE    SEVENTH.  267 

"  Escape  is  impossible,"  said  I,  again  lifting 
the  temporary  curtain  by  which  he  was  hid. 
"  The  whole  town  is  armed,  and  on  the  search ; 
and  should  you  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  mob, 
in  its  present  state  of  exasperation,  your  life 
would  not  be  safe  an  instant.  Remain,  then, 
quiet,  where  you  are,  until  I  can  see  the  sheriff, 
to  whom  you  had  better  resign  yourself,  for 
there's  little  chance  for  you  except  under  his 
protection." 

After  a  brief  parley,  he  consented  that  things 
should  take  this  course,  and  I  went  out,  locking 
the  room  door  after  me,  and  started  in  search 
of  the  sheriff.  On  the  information  I  gave,  the 
sheriff  acted  promptly.  With  five  officers,  fully 
armed  for  defense,  in  case  an  effort  were  made 
to  get  the  prisoner  out  of  their  hands,  he  re 
paired  immediately  to  the  "  Sickle  and  Sheaf." 
I  had  given  the  key  of  my  room  into  his  pos 
session. 

The  appearance  of  the  sheriff,  with  his  posse, 
was  sufficient  to  start  the  suggestion  that  Green 


268  TEN   NIGHTS    IN    A    BAR-ROOM. 

was  somewhere  concealed  in  the  house ;  and  a 
suggestion  was  only  needed  to  cause  the  fact 
to  be  assumed,  and  unhesitatingly  declared. 
Intelligence  went  through  the  reassembling 
crowd  like  an  electric  current,  and  ere  the 
sheriff  could  manacle  and  lead  forth  his  pris 
oner,  the  stairway  down  which  he  had  to  come 
was  packed  with  bodies,  and  echoing  with  oaths 
and  maledictions. 

"  Gentlemen,  clear  the  way ! "  cried  the  sher 
iff,  as  he  appeared  with  the  white  and 
trembling  culprit  at  the  head  of  the  stairs. 
"The  murderer  is  now  in  the  hands  of  the 
law,  and  will  meet  the  sure  consequences  of 
his  crime." 

A  shout  of  execration  rent  the  air ;  but  not 
a  single  individual  stirred. 

"  Give  way,  there  !  Give  way  !  "  And  the 
sheriff  took  a  step  or  two  forward,  but  the 
prisoner  held  back. 

"  Oh,  the  murdering  villain  !  The  cursed 
blackleg  !  Where's  Willy  Hammond  ?  "  was 


NIGHT   THE    SEVENTH.  269 

heard  distinctly  above  the  confused  mingling 
of  voices. 

"  Gentlemen  !  the  law  must  have  its  course ; 
and  no  good  citizen  will  oppose  the  law.  It  is 
made  for  your  protection — for  mine — and  for 
that  of  the  prisoner." 

"  Lynch  law  is  good  enough  for  him,"  shouted 
a  savage  voice.  "  Hand  him  over  to  us,  sheriff, 
and  we'll  save  you  the  trouble  of  hanging  him, 
and  the  county  the  cost  of  a  gallows.  We'll 
do  the  business  right." 

Five  men,  each  armed  with  a  revolver,  now 
ranged  themselves  around  the  sheriff,  and  the 
latter  said  firmly : 

"  It  is  my  duty  to  see  this  man  safely  con 
veyed  to  prison ;  and  I'm  going  to  do  my  duty. 
If  there  is  any  more  blood  shed  here,  the  blame 
will  rest  with  you."  And  the  body  of  officers 
pressed  forward,  the  mob  slowly  retreating 
before  them. 

Green,  overwhelmed  with  terror,  held  back. 
I  was  standing  where  I  could  see  his  face.  It 


270  TEN   NIGHTS    IN    A    BAR-ROOM. 

was  ghastly  with  mortal  fear.  Grasping  his 
pinioned  arms,  the  sheriff  forced  him  onward. 
After  contending  with  the  crowd  for  nearly 
ten  minutes,  the  officers  gained  the  passage 
below;  but  the  mob  was  denser  here,  and 
blocking  up  the  door,  resolutely  maintained 
their  position. 

Again  and  again  the  sheriff  appealed  to  the 
good  sense  and  justice  of  the  people. 

"The  prisoner  will  have  to  stand  a  trial 
and  the  law  will  execute  sure  vengeance." 

"  No,  it  won't !  "  was  sternly  responded. 

"  Who'll  be  judge  in  the  case  ? "  was 
asked. 

"  Why,  Judge  Lyman  ! "  was  contemptuously 
answered. 

"  A  blackleg  himself ! "  was  shouted  by  two 
or  three  voices. 

"  Blackleg  judge,  and  blackleg  lawyers !  Oh, 
yes !  The  law  will  execute  sure  vengeance ! 
Who  was  in  the  room  gambling  with  Green 
and  Hammond  ? " 


NIGHT    THE    SEVENTH.  271 

"  Judge  Lyman  !  "  "  Judge  Lyman  !  "  was 
answered  back. 

"  It  won't  do,  sheriff  !  There's  no  law  in  the 
country  to  reach  the  case  but  Lynch  law ;  and 
that  the  scoundrel  must  have.  Give  him  to 
us!" 

"  Never !  On,  men,  with  the  prisoner ! " 
cried  the  sheriff  resolutely,  and  the  posse  made 
a  rush  toward  the  door,  bearing  back  the  re 
sisting  and  now  infuriated  crowd.  Shouts, 
cries,  oaths,  and  savage  imprecations  blended 
in  wild  discord ;  in  the  midst  of  which  my 
blood  was  chilled  by  the  sharp  crack  of  a  pis 
tol.  Another  and  another  shot  followed ;  and 
then,  as  a  cry  of  pain  thrilled  the  air,  the  fierce 
storm  hushed  its  fury  in  an  instant. 

"Who's  shot?     Is  he  killed?" 

There  was  a  breathless  eagerness  for  the 
answer. 

"It's  the  gambler!"  was  replied.  "Some 
body  has  shot  Green." 

A  low  muttered  invective  against  the  victim 


272  TEN  NIGHTS   IN   A   BAB-BOOM. 

was  heard  here  and  there ;  but  the  announce 
ment  was  not  received  with  a  shout  of  exulta 
tion,  though  there  was  scarcely  a  heart  that 
did  not  feel  pleasure  at  the  sacrifice  of  Harvey 
Green's  life. 

It  was  true  as  had  been  declared.  Whether 
the  shot  were  aimed  deliberately,  or  guided  by 
an  unseen  hand  to  the  heart  of  the  gambler, 
was  never  known ;  nor  did  the  most  careful 
examination,  instituted  afterward  by  the  coun 
ty,  elicit  any  information  that  even  directed 
suspicion  toward  the  individual  who  became 
the  agent  of  his  death. 

At  the  coroner's  inquest,  held  over  the  dead 
body  of  Harvey  Green,  Simon  Slade  was  pres 
ent.  Where  he  had  concealed  himself  while 
the  mob  were  in  search  of  him,  was  not  known. 
He  looked  haggard ;  and  his  eyes  were  anxious 
and  restless.  Two  murders  in  his  house,  oc 
curring  in  a  single  day,  were  quite  enough 
to  darken  his  spirits  ;  and  the  more  so,  as 
his  relations  with  both  the  victims  were  not 


NIGHT   THE    SEVENTH.  273 

of  a  character  to  awaken  any  thing  but  self- 
accusation. 

As  for  the  mob,  in  the  death  of  Green  its 
eager  thirst  for  vengeance  was  satisfied.  Noth 
ing  more  was  said  against  Slade,  as  a  partici 
pator  in  the  ruin  and  death  of  young  Ham 
mond.  The  popular  feeling  was  one  of  pity 
rather  than  indignation  toward  the  landlord ; 
for  it  was  seen  that  he  was  deeply  trou 
bled. 

One  thing  I  noticed,  and  it  was  that  the 
drinking  at  the  bar  was  not  suspended  for  a 
moment.  A  large  proportion  of  those  who 
made  up  the  crowd  of  Green's  angry  pursuers 
were  excited  by  drink  as  well  as  indignation, 
and  I  am  very  sure  that,  but  for  the  madden 
ing  effects  of  liquor,  the  fatal  shot  would  never 
have  been  fired.  After  the  fearful  catastrophe, 
and  when  *very  mind  was  sobered,  or  ought  to 
have  been  sobered,  the  crowd  returned  to  the 
bar-room,  where  the  drinking  was  renewed. 
So  rapid  were  the  calls  for  liquor,  that  both 


274  TEN   NIGHTS    IN    A    BAR-ROOM. 

Matthew  and  Frank,  the  landlord's  son,  were 
kept  busy  mixing  the  various  compounds  de 
manded  by  the  thirsty  customers. 

From  the  constant  stream  of  human  beings 
that  flowed  toward  the  "Sickle  and  Sheaf/' 
after  the  news  of  Green's  discovery  and  death 
went  forth,  it  seemed  as  if  every  man  and  boy 
within  a  distance  of  two  or  three  miles  had  re 
ceived  intelligence  of  the  event.  Few,  very,  of 
those  who  came,  but  went  first  into  the  bar 
room  ;  and  nearly  all  who  entered  the  bar-room 
called  for  liquor.  In  an  hour  after  the  death 
of  Green,  the  fact  that  his  dead  body  was  laid 
out  in  the  room  immediately  adjoining,  seemed 
utterly  to  pass  from  the  consciousness  of  every 
one  in  the  bar.  The  calls  for  liquor  were  in 
cessant;  and,  as  the  excitement  of  drink  in 
creased,  voices  grew  louder,  and  oaths  more 
plentiful,  while  the  sounds  of  laughter  ceased 
not  for  an  instant. 

"They're  giving  him  a  regular  Irish  wake,* 
I  heard  remarked,  with  a  brutal  laugh. 


NIGHT   THE    SEVENTH.  275 

I  turned  to  the  speaker,  and,  to  my  great  sur 
prise,  saw  that  it  was  Judge  Lyman,  more  un 
der  the  influence  of  drink  than  I  remembered 
to  have  seen  him.  He  was  about  the  last  man 
I  expected  to  find  here.  If  he  knew  of  the 
strong  indignation  expressed  toward  him  a  lit 
tle  while  before,  by  some'of  the  very  men  now 
excited  with  liquor,  his  own  free  drinking  had 
extinguished  fear. 

"  Yes,  curse  him  ! "  was  the  answer.  "  If 
they  have  a  particularly  hot  corner  'away 
down  below,'  I  hope  he's  made  its  acquaintance 
before  this." 

"  Most  likely  he's  smelled  brimstone,"  chuck-, 
led  the  judge. 

"  Smelled  it !  If  old  Clubf oot  hasn't  treated 
him  with  a  brimstone-bath  long  before  this,  he 
hasn't  done  his  duty.  If  I  thought  as  much, 
I'd  vote  for  sending  his  majesty  a  remonstrance 
forthwith." 

"Ha!  ha!"  laughed  the  judge.  "You're 
warm  on  the  subject." 

18 


276  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAB-ROOM. 

"  Ain't  I  ?  The  blackleg  scoundrel !  Hell's 
too  good  for  him." 

"  H-u-s-h  !  Don't  let  your  indignation  run 
into  profanity,"  said  Judge  Lyman,  trying  to 
assume  a  serious  air ;  but  the  muscles  of  his 
face  but  feebly  obeyed  his  will's  feeble  effort. 

"Profanity!  Poh !  I  don't  call  that  pro 
fanity.  It's  only  speaking  out  in  meeting,  as 
they  say, — it's  only  calling  black,  black — and 
white,  white.  You  believe  in  a  hell,  don't  you, 
judge  ? " 

"  I  suppose  there  is  one ;  though  I  don't  know 
very  certain." 

"  You'd  better  be  certain ! "  said  the  other, 
meaningly. 

"  Why  so  ? " 

"  Oh  !  because  if  there  is  one,  and  you  don't 
cut  your  cards  a  little  differently,  you'll  be  apt 
to  find  it  at  the  end  of  your  journey." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that  ? "  asked  the 
judge,  retreating  somewhat  into  himself,  and 
trying  to  look  dignified. 


WIGHT   THE    SEVENTH.  277 

"Just  what  I  say/'  was  unhesitatingly  an 
swered.  „ 

"  Do  you  mean  to  insinuate  any  thing  ? " 
asked  the  judge,  whose  brows  were  beginning 
to  knit  themselves. 

"Nobody  thinks  you  a  saint,"  replied  the 
man,  roughly. 

"  I  never  professed  to  be." 

"And  it  is  said"r— the  man  fixed  his  gaze 
almost  insultingly  upon  Judge  Lyman's  face — 
"that  you'll  get  about  as  hot  "a  corner  in  the 
lower  regions  as  is  to  be  found  there,  whenever 
you  make  the  journey  in  that  direction." 

"  You  are  insolent ! "  exclaimed  the  judge, 
his  face  becoming  inflamed. 

"  Take  care  what  you  say,  sir ! "  The  man 
spoke  threateningly. 

"You'd  better  take  care  what  you  say." 

"  So  I  will/'  replied  the  other.     "  But " 

"What's  to  pay  here?"  inquired  a  third 
party,  coming  up  at  the  moment,  and  inter 
rupting  the  speaker. 


278  TEN   NIGHTS   IN    A   BAR-ROOM. 

"  The  devil  will  be  to  pay,"  said  Judge  Ly- 
man,  "  if  somebody  don't  look  out  sharp." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  for  rne,  ha  ? "  The  man, 
between  whom  and  himself  this  slight  conten 
tion  had  so  quickly  sprung  up,  began  stripping 
back  his  coat  sleeves,  like  one  about  to  com 
mence  boxing. 

"I  mean  it  for  anybody  who  presumes  to 
offer  me  an  insult." 

The  raised  voices  of  the  two  men  now  drew 
toward  them  the  attention  of  every  one  in  the 
bar-room. 

"The  devil!  There's  Judge  Lyman!"  1 
heard  some  one  exclaim,  in  a  tone  of  sur 
prise. 

"Wasn't  he  in  the  room  with  Green  when 
Willy  Hammond  was  murdered?"  asked  an 
other. 

"  Yes,  he  was ;  and  what's  more,  it  is  said  he 
had  been  playing  against  him  all  night,  he  and 
Green  sharing  the  plunder." 

This  last  remark  came  distinctly  to  the  ears 


NIGHT    THE    SEVENTH.  279 

of  Lyman,  who  started  to  his  feet  instantly 
exclaiming  fiercely : 

"  Whoever  says  that  is  a  cursed  liar  ! " 

The  words  were  scarcely  out  of  his  mouth, 
before  a  blow  staggered  him  against  the  wall, 
near  which  he  was  standing.  Another  blow 
felled  him,  and  then  his  assailant  sprang  over 
his  prostrate  body,  kicking  him,  and  stamping 
upon  his  face  and  breast  in  the  most  brutal, 
shocking  manner. 

"  Kill  him  !  He's  worse  than  Green  ! "  some 
body  cried  out,  in  a  voice  so  full  of  cruelty  and 
murder  that  it  made  my  blood  curdle.  "Re 
member  Willy  Hammond ! " 

The  terrible  scene  that  followed,  in  which 
were  heard  a  confused  mingling  of  blows,  cries, 
yells,  and  horrible  oaths,  continued  for  several 
minutes,  and  ceased  only  when  the  words — 
"  Don't,  don't  strike  him  any  more !  He's 
dead ! "  were  repeated  several  times.  Then 
the  wild  strife  subsided.  As  the  crowd  parted 
from  around  the  body  of  Judge  Lyman,  and 


280  TEN   NIGHTS   IN    A    BAE-BOOM. 

gave  way,  I  caught  a  single  glance  at  his  face. 
It  was  covered  with  blood,  and  every  feature 
seemed  to  have  been  literally  trampled  down, 
until  all  was  a  level  surface !  Sickened  at  the 
sight,  I  passed  hastily  from  the  room  into  the 
open  air,  and  caught  my  breath  several  times, 
before  respiration  again  went  on  freely.  As  I 
stood  in  front  of  the  tavern,  the  body  of  Judge 
Lyman  was  borne  out  by  three  or  four  men, 
and  carried  off  in  the  direction  of  his  dwell 
ing. 

"  Is  he  dead  ? "  I  inquired  of  those  who  had 
him  in  charge. 

"  No,"  was  the  answer.  "  He's  not  dead,  but 
terribly  beaten,"  and  they  passed  on. 

Again  the  loud  voices  of  men  in  angry  strife 
arose  in  the  bar-room.  I  did  not  return  there 
to  learn  the  cause,  or  to  witness  the  fiend-like 
conduct  of  men,  all  whose  worst  passions  were 
stimulated  by  drink  into  the  wildest  fervor. 
As  I  was  entering  my  room,  the  thought  flashed 
through  my  mind  that,  as  Green  was  found 


NIGHT   THE    SEVENTH.  281 

there,  it  needed  only  the  bare  suggestion  that  I 
had  aided  in  his  concealment,  to  direct  toward 
me  the  insane  fury  of  the  drunken  mob. 

"It  is  not  safe  to  remain  here."  I  said  this 
to  myself,  with  the  emphasis  of  a  strong  inter 
nal  conviction. 

Against  this,  my  mind  opposed  a  few  feeble 
arguments;  but  the  more  I  thought  of  the 
matter,  the  more  clearly  did  I  become  satis 
fied,  that  to  attempt  to  pass  the  night  in  that 
room  was  to  me  a  risk  it  was  not  prudent  to 
assume. 

So  I  went  in  search  of  Mrs.  Slade,  to  ask  her 
to  have  another  room  prepared  for  me.  But 
she  was  not  in  the  house ;  and  I  learned,  upon 
inquiry,  that  since  the  murder  of  young  Ham 
mond,  she  had  been  suffering  from  repeated 
hysterical  and  fainting  fits,  and  was  now,  with 
her  daughter,  at  the  house  of  a  relative,  whither 
she  had  been  carried  early  in  the  afternoon. 

It  was  on  my  lip  to  request  the  chamber 
maid  to  give  me  another  room ;  but  this  I  felt 


282  TEN   NIGHTS    IN    A    BAR-EOOM. 

to  be  scarcely  prudent,  for  if  the  popular  in 
dignation  should  happen  to  turn  toward  me, 
the  servant  would  be  the  one  questioned,  most 
likely,  as  to  where  I  had  removed  my  quarters. 

"  It  isn't  safe  to  stay  in  the  house,"  said  I, 
speaking  to  myself.  "Two,  perhaps  three, 
murders  have  been  committed  already.  The 
tiger's  thirst  for  blood  has  been  stimulated,  and 
who  can  tell  how  quickly  he  may  spring  again, 
or  in  what  direction  ? " 

Even  while  I  said  this,  there  came  up  from 
the  bar-room  louder  and  madder  shouts.  Then 
blows  were  heard,  mingled  with  cries  and 
oaths.  A  shuddering  sense  of  danger  oppressed 
me,  and  I  went  hastily  down-stairs,  and  out 
into  the  street.  As  I  gained  the  passage,  I 
looked  into  the  sitting-room,  where  the  body 
of  Green  was  laid  out.  Just  then,  the  bar-room 
door  was  burst  open  by  a  fighting  party,  who 
had  been  thrown,  in  their  fierce  contention, 
against  it.  I  paused  only  for  a  moment  or 
two;  and  even  in  that  brief  period  of  time, 


NIGHT    THE    SEVENTH.  283 

saw  blows  exchanged  over  the  dead  body  of 
the  gambler ! 

"This  is  no  place  for  me,"  I  said,  almost 
aloud,  and  hurried  from  the  house,  and  took 
my  way  to  the  residence  of  a  gentleman  who 
had  shown  me  many  kindnesses  during  my 
visits  at  Cedarville.  There  was  needed  scarcely 
a  word  of  representation  on  my  part,  to  secure 
the  cordial  tender  of  a  bed. 

What  a  change  !  It  seemed  almost  like  a 
passage  from  Pandemonium  to  a  heavenly 
region,  as  I  seated  myself  alone  in  the  quiet 
chamber  a  cheerful  hospitality  had  assigned 
me,  and  mused  on  the  exciting  and  terrible  in 
cidents  of  the  day.  They  that  sow  the  wind 
shall  reap  the  whirlwind.  How  marked  had 
been  the  realization  of  this  prophecy,  couched 
in  such  strong  but  beautiful  imagery  ! 

On  the  next  day  I  was  to  leave  Cedarville. 
Early  in  the  morning  I  repaired  to  the  "  Sickle 
and  Sheaf."  The  storm  was  over,  and  all 
was  calm  and  silent  as  desolation.  Hours 


284  TEN    NIGHTS    IN    A   BAR-ROOM. 

before,  the  tempest  had  subsided;  but  the 
evidences  left  behind  of  its  ravaging  fury 
were  fearful  to  look  upon.  Doors,  chairs,  win 
dows,  and  tables  were  broken,  and  even  the 
strong  brass  rod  that  ornamented  the  bar  had 
been  partially  wrenched  from  its  fastenings  by 
strong  hands,  under  an  impulse  of  murder,  that 
omv  lacked  a  weapon  to  execute  its  fiendish 
purpose.  Stains  of  blood,  in  drops,  marks,  and 
even  dried-up  pools,  were  to  be  seen  all  over 
the  bar-room  and  passage  floors,  and  in  many 
places  on  the  porch. 

In  the  sitting-room  still  lay  the  body  of 
Green.  Here,  too,  were  many  signs  to  indi 
cate  a  fierce  struggle.  The  looking-glass  was 
smashed  to  a  hundred  pieces,  and  the  shivered 
fragments  lay  yet  untouched  upon  the  floor. 
A  chair,  which  it  was  plain  had  been  used  as  a 
weapon  of  assault,  had  two  of  its  legs  broken 
short  off,  and  was  thrown  into  a  corner.  And 
even  the  bearers  on  which  the  dead  man  lay 
were  pushed  from  their  true  position,  showing 


NIGHT   THE    SEVENTH.  285 

that  even  in  its  mortal  sleep,  the  body  of  Green 
had  felt  the  jarring  strife  of  elements  he  had 
himself  helped  to  awaken  into  mad  activity. 
From  his  face,  the  sheet  had  been  drawn  aside ; 
but  no  hand  ventured  to  replace  it ;  and  there 
it  lay,  in  its  ghastly  paleness,  exposed  to  the 
light,  and  covered  with  restless  flies,  attracted 
by  the  first  faint  odors  of  putridity.  With 
gaze  averted,  I  approached  the  body,  and  drew 
the  covering  decently  over  it. 

No  person  was  in  the  bar.  I  went  out  into 
the  stable-yard,  where  I  met  the  hostler  with 
his  head  bound  up.  There  was  a  dark  blue 
circle  around  one  of  his  eyes,  and  an  ugly-look 
ing  red  scar  on  his  cheek. 

"  Where  is  Mr.  Slade  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"  In  bed,  and  likely  to  keep  it  for  a  week," 
was  answered. 

"  How  comes  that  ? " 

"  Naturally  enough.  There  was  fighting  all 
around  last  night,  and  he  had  to  come  in  for  a 
share.  The  fool !  If  he'd  just  held  his  tongue, 


286  TEN    NIGHTS    IN    A    BAR-ROOM. 

he  might  have  come  out  of  it  with  a  whole 
skin.  But,  when  the  rum  is  in,  the  wit  is  out, 
with  him.  It's  cost  me  a  black  eye  and  a 
broken  head;  for  how  could  I  stand  by  and 
see  him  murdered  outright  ? " 

"  Is  he  very  badly  injured  ? " 

"I  rather  think  he  is.  One  eye  is  clean 
gone." 

"  Oh,  shocking  ! " 

"  It's  shocking  enough,  and  no  mistake." 

"  Lost  an  eye  ? " 

"Too  true,  sir.  The  doctor  saw  him  this 
morning,  and  says  the  eye  was  fairly  gouged 
out,  and  broken  up.  In  fact,  when  we  carried 
him  up-stairs  for  dead,  last  night,  his  eye  was 
lying  upon  his  cheek.  I  pushed  it  back  with 
my  own  hand  ! " 

u  Oh,  horrible  ! "  The  relation  made  me  sick. 
"  Is  he  otherwise  much  injured  ? " 

"The  doctor  thinks  there  are  some  bad 
hurts  inside.  Why,  they  kicked  and  trampled 
upon  him,  as  if  he  had  been  a  wild  beast !  I 


NIGHT   THE    SEVENTH.  28Y 

never  saw  such  a  pack  of  blood-thirsty  devils 
in  my  life." 

"So  much  for  rum,"  said  I. 

"Yes,  sir;  so  much  for  rum,"  was  the  em 
phatic  response.  "  It  was  the  rum,  and  nothing 
else.  Why,  some  of  the  very  men  who  acted 
the  most  like  tigers  and  devils,  are  as  harmless 
persons  as  you  will  find  in  Cedarville  when 
sober.  Yes,  sir;  it  was  the  rum,  and  nothing 
else.  Rum  gave  me  this  broken  head  and 
black  eye," 

"  So  you  had  been  drinking  also  ? " 

"Oh,  yes.  There's  no  use  in  denying 
that." 

"  Liquor  does  you  harm." 

"  Nobody  knows  that  better  than  I  do." 

"  Why  do  you  drink,  then  ? " 

"Oh,  just  because  it  comes  in  the  way. 
Liquor  is  under  my  eyes  and  nose  all  the 
time,  and  it's  as  natural  as  breathing  to  take 
a  little  now  and  then.  And  when  I  don't 
think  of  it  myself,  somebody  will  think  of  it 


288  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAB-ROOM. 

for  me,  and  say — 4  Come,  Sam,  let's  take  some 
thing.'  So  you  see,  for  a  body  such  as  I  am, 
there  isn't  much  help  for  it." 

"  But  ain't  you  afraid  to  go  on  in  this  way  ? 
Don't  you  know  where  it  will  all  end  ? " 

"  Just  as  well  as  anybody.  It  will  make  an 
end  of  me — or  of  all  that  is  good  in  me.  Rum 
and  ruin,  you  know,  sir.  They  go  together 
like  twin  brothers." 

"Why  don't  you  get  out  of  the  way  of 
temptation  ? "  said  I. 

"  It's  easy  enough  to  ask  that  question,  sir ; 
but  how  am  I  to  get  out  of  the  way  of  tempta 
tion  ?  Where  shall  I  go,  and  not  find  a  bar  in 
my  road,  and  somebody  to  say — 'Come,  Sam, 
let's  take  a  drink?'  It  can't  be  done,  sir,  no 
how.  I'm  a  hostler,  and  don't  know  how  to  be 
any  thing  else." 

"  Can't  you  work  on  a  farm  ? " 

"  Yes ;  I  can  do  something  in  that  way. 
But,  when  there  are  taverns  and  bar-rooms, 
as  many  as  three  or  four  in  every  mile  all  over 


NIGHT  THE   SEVENTH.  289 

the  country,  how  are  you  to  keep  clear  of  them  ? 
Figure  me  out  that." 

"I  think  you'd  better  vote  on  the  Maine 
Law  side  at  next  election/'  said  I. 

"  Faith,  and  I  did  it  last  time  ! "  replied  the 
man,  with  a  brightening  face — "and  if  I'm 
spared,  I'll  go  the  same  ticket  next  year.' 

"  What  do  you  think  of  the  Law  ?"  I  asked. 

"  Think  of  it !  Bless  your  heart !  if  I  was  a 
praying  man,  which  I'm  sorry  to  say  I  ain't— 
my  mother  was  a  pious  woman,  sir  "-  —his,  voice 
fell  and  slightly  trembled — "  if  I  was  a  praying 
man,  sir,  I'd  pray,  night  and  morning,  and 
twenty  times  every  day  of  my  life,  for  God  to 
put  it  into  the  hearts  of  the  people  to  give  us 
that  Law.  I'd  have  some  hope  then.  But  I 
haven't  much  as  it  is.  There's  no  use  in  try 
ing  to  let  liquor  alone." 

"  Do  many  drinking  men  think  as  you  do  ?  " 

"I  can  count  up  a  dozen  or  two  myself.  It 
isn't  the  drinking  men  who  are  so  much  op 
posed  to  the  Maine  Law  as  your  politicians. 


290  TEN    NIGHTS    IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

They  throw  dust  in  the  people's  eyes  about  it, 
and  make  a  great  many,  who  know  nothing  at 
all  of  the  evils  of  drinking  in  themselves,  be 
lieve  some  bugbear  story  about  trampling  on 
the  rights  of  I  don't  know  who,  nor  they  either. 
As  for  rum-sellers'  rights,  I  never  could  see  any 
right  they  had  to  get  rich  by  ruining  poor 
devils  such  as  I  am.  I  think,  though,  that  we 
have  some  right  to  be  protected  against  them." 

The  ringing  of  a  bell  here  announced  the 
arrival  of  some  traveler,  and  the  hostler  left 
me. 

I  learned,  during  the  morning,  that  Matthew, 
the  bar-keeper,  and  also  the  son  of  Mr.  Slade, 
were  both  considerably  hurt  during  the  affrays 
in  the  bar-room,  and  were  confined,  tempora 
rily,  to  their  beds.  Mrs.  Slade  still  continued 
in  a  distressing  and  dangerous  state.  Judge 
Lyman,  though  shockingly  injured,  was  not 
thought  to  be  in  a  critical  condition. 

A  busy  day  the  sheriff  had  of  it,  making 
arrests  of  various  parties  engaged  in  the  last 


NIGHT    THE    SEVENTH.  291 

night's  affairs.  Even  Slade,  unable  as  he  was 
to  lift  his  head  from  his  pillow,  was  required 
to  give  heavy  bail  for  his  appearance  at  court. 
Happily,  I  escaped  the  inconvenience  of  being 
held  to  appear  as  a  witness,  and  early  in  the 
afternoon  had  the  satisfaction  of  finding  myself 
rapidly  borne  away  in  the  stage-coach.  It  was 
two  years  before  I  entered  the  pleasant  village 
of  Cedarville  again. 

19 


292  TEN   NIGHTS   IN    A   BAK-ROOM. 


NIGHT    THE    EIGHTH. 

REAPING   THE    WHIRLWIND. 

WAS  in  Washington  City  during  the  suc 
ceeding  month.  It  was  the  short,  or 
closing  session  of  a  regular  Congressional  term. 
The  implication  of  Judge  Lyman  in  the  affair 
of  Green  and  young  Hammond  had  brought 
him  into  such  bad  odor  in  Cedarville,  and  the 
whole  district  from  which  he  had  been  chosen, 
that  his  party  deemed  it  wise  to  set  him  aside, 
and  take  up  a  candidate  less  likely  to  meet 
with  so  strong,  and,  it  might  be,  successful  an 
opposition.  By  so  doing,  they  were  able  to 
secure  the  election,  once  more,  against  the  grow 
ing  temperance  party,  which  succeeded,  how 
ever,  in  getting  a  Maine  Law  man  into  the 
State  Legislature.  It  was,  therefore,  Judge  Ly- 
man's  last  winter  at  the  Federal  Capital. 


NIGHT   THE   EIGHTH.  293 

While  seated  in  the  reading-room  at  Fuller's 
Hotel,  about  noon,  on  the  day  after  my  arrival 
in  Washington,  I  noticed  an  individual,  whose 
face  looked  familiar,  come  in  and  glance  about, 
as  if  in  search  of  some  one.  While  yet  ques 
tioning  in  my  mind  who  he  could  be,  I  heard  a 
man  remark  to  a  person  with  whom  he  had 
been  conversing: 

"There's  that  vagabond  member  away  from 
his  place  in  the  House,  again." 

"  Who  ? "  inquired  the  other. 

"  Why,  Judge  Lyman,"  was  answered. 

"Oh!"  said  the  other,  indifferently;  "it 
isn't  of  much  consequence.  Precious  little 
wisdom  does  he  add  to  that  intelligent  body." 

"  His  vote  is  worth  something,  at  least,  when 
important  questions  are  at  stake." 

"  What  does  he  charge  for  it  ? "  was  coolly 
inquired. 

There  was  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders,  and 
an  arching  of  the  eyebrows,  but  no  an 
swer. 


294  TEN    NIGHTS    IN    A    BAR-ROOM. 

"I'm  in  earnest,  though,  in  the  question,' 
said  the  last  speaker. 

"  Not  in  saying  that  Lyman  will  sell  his  vote 
to  the  highest  bidders  ? " 

"That  will  depend  altogether  upon  whom 
the  bidders  may  be.  They  must  be  men  who 
have  something  to  lose  as  well  as  gain — men 
not  at  all  likely  to  bruit  the  matter,  and  in 
serving  whose  personal  interests  no  abandon 
ment  of  party  is  required.  Judge  Lyman  is 
always  on  good  terms  with  the  lobby  members, 
and  may  be  found  in  company  with  some  of 
them  daily.  Doubtless,  his  absence  from  the 
House,  now,  is  for  the  purpose  of  a  special 
meeting  with  gentlemen  who  are  ready  to  pay 
well  for  votes  in  favor  of  some  bill  making  ap 
propriations  of  public  money  for  private  or 
corporate  benefit." 

"  You  certainly  can  not  mean  all  you  say  to 
be  taken  in  its  broadest  sense,"  was  replied  to 
this* 

"Yes;  in  its  very  broadest.     Into  just  this 


NIGHT   THE    EIGHTH.  295 

deep  of  moral  and  political  degradation  has 
this  man  fallen,  disgracing  his  constituents, 
and  dishonoring  his  country." 

"  His  presence  at  Washington  doesn't  speak 
very  highly  in  favor  of  the  community  he  rep 
resents." 

"  No ;  still,  as  things  are  now,  we  cannot 
judge  of  the  moral  worth  of  a  community  by 
the  men  sent  from  it  to  Congress.  Representa 
tives  show  merely  the  strength  of  parties.  The 
candidate  chosen  in  party  primary  meetings  is 
not  selected  because  he  is  the  best  man  they 
have,  and  the  one  fittest  to  legislate  wisely  in 
national  affairs;  but  he  who  happens  to  have 
the  strongest  personal  friends  among  those  who 
nominate,  or  who  is  most  likely  to  poll  the 
highest  vote.  This  is  why  we  find,  in  Con 
gress,  such  a  large  preponderance  of  tenth-rate 


men." 


"  A  man  such  as  you  represent  Judge  Lyman 
to  be  would  sell  his  country,  like  another 
Arnold." 


296  TEN   NIGHTS   IN    A   BAB-ROOM. 

"Yes;  if  the  bid  were  high  enough." 

"Does  he  gamble?" 

"  Gambling,  I  might  say,  is  a  part  of  his 
profession.  Very  few  nights  pass,  I  am  told, 
without  finding  him  at  the  gaming-table." 

I  heard  no  more.  At  all  this,  I  was  not  in 
the  least  surprised;  for  my  knowledge  of  the 
man's  antecedents  had  prepared  me  for  allega 
tions  quite  as  bad  as  these. 

During  the  week  I  spent  at  the  Federal 
Capital,  I  had  several  opportunities  of  seeing 
Judge  Lyman,  in  the  House  and  out  of  it, — in 
the  House  only  when  the  yeas  and  nays  were 
called  on  some  important  measure,  or  a  vote 
taken  on  a  bill  granting  special  privileges.  In 
the  latter  case,  his  vote,  as  I  noticed,  was  gen 
erally  cast  on  the  affirmative  side.  Several  times 
I  saw  him  staggering  on  the  Avenue,  and  once 
brought  into  the  House  for  the  purpose  of 
voting,  in  so  drunken  a  state,  that  he  had  to  be 
supported  to  his  seat.  And  even  worse  than 
this — when  his  name  was  called,  he  was  asleep, 


NIGHT   THE    EIGHTH.  297 

and  had  to  be  shaken  several  times  before  he 
was  sufficiently  aroused  to  give  his  vote ! 

Happily,  for  the  good  of  his  country,  it  was 
his  last  winter  in  Washington.  At  the  next 
session,  a  better  man  took  his  place. 


Two  years  from  the  period  of  my  last  visit 
to  Cedarville,  I  found  myself  approaching  that 
quiet  village  again.  As  the  church-spire  came 
in  view,  and  house  after  house  became  visible, 
here  and  there,  standing  out  in  pleasant  relief 
against  the  green  background  of  woods  and 
fields,  all  the  exciting  events  which  rendered 
my  last  visit  so  memorable,  came  up  fresh  in 
my  mind.  I  was  yet  thinking  of  Willy  Ham 
mond's  dreadful  death,  and  of  his  broken 
hearted  mother,  whose  life  went  out  with  his, 
when  the  stage  rolled  by  their  old  homestead. 
Oh,  what  a  change  was  here  !  Neglect,  decay, 
and  dilapidation  were  visible,  let  the  eye  fall 
where  it  would.  The  fences  were  down,  here 


298  TEN    NIGHTS    IN    A    BAR-ROOM. 

and  there ;  the  hedges,  once  so  green  and 
nicely  trimmed,  had  grown  rankly  in  some 
places,  but  were  stunted  and  dying  in  others ; 
all  the  beautiful  walks  were  weedy  and  grass- 
grown,  and  the  box-borders  dead;  the  garden, 
rainbow-hued  in  its  wealth  of  choice  and  beau 
tiful  flowers  when  I  first  saw  it,  was  lying 
waste, — a  rooting-ground  for  hogs.  A  glance 
at  the  house  showed  a  broken  chimney,  the 
bricks  unremoved  from  the  spot  where  they 
struck  the  ground ;  a  moss-grown  roof,  with  a 
large  limb  from  a  lightning-rent  tree  lying 
almost  balanced  over  the  eaves,  and  threaten 
ing  to  fall  at  the  touch  of  the  first  wind-storm 
that  swept  over.  Half  of  the  vines  that  clam 
bered  about  the  portico  were  dead,  and  the 
rest,  untrained,  twined  themselves  in  wild  dis 
order,  or  fell  groveling  to  the  earth.  One  of 
the  pillars  of  the  portico  was  broken,  as  were, 
also,  two  of  the  steps  that  went  up  to  it.  The 
windows  of  the  house  were  closed,  but  the 
door  stood  open,  and,  as  the  stage  went  past, 


NIGHT    THE    EIGHTH.  21M) 

my  eyes  rested,  for  a  moment,  upon  an  old 
man  seated  in  the  hall.  He  was  not  near 
enough  to  the  door  for  me  to  get  a  view  of  his 
face ;  but  the  white  flowing  hair  left  me  in  no 
doubt  as  to  his  identity.  It  was  Judge  Ham 
mond. 

The  "  Sickle  and  Sheaf "  was  yet  the  stage- 
house  of  Cedarville,  and  there,  a  few  minutes 
afterward,  I  found  myself.  The  hand  of  change 
had  been  here  also.  The  first  object  that  at 
tracted  my  attention  was  the  sign-post,  which, 
at  my  earlier  arrival,  some  eight  or  nine  years 
before,  stood  up  in  its  new  white  garment  of 
paint,  as  straight  as  a  plummet-line,  bearing 
proudly  aloft  the  golden  sheaf  and  gleaming 
sickle.  Now,  the  post,  dingy  and  shattered, 
and  worn  from  the  frequent  contact  of  wheels, 
and  gnawing  of  restless  horses,  leaned  from  its 
trim  perpendicular  at  an  angle  of  many  degrees, 
as  if  ashamed  of  the  faded,  weather-worn,  lying 
symbol  it  bore  aloft  in  the  sunshine.  Around 
the  post  was  a  filthy  mud-pool,  in  which  a  hog 


300  TEN    NIGHTS    IN    A    BAB-BOOM. 

lay  grunting  out  its  sense  of  enjoyment.  Two 
or  three  old  empty  whisky  barrels  lumbered 
up  the  dirty  porch,  on  which  a  coarse,  bloated, 
vulgar-looking  man  sat  leaning  against  the 
wall — his  chair  tipped  back  on  its  hind  legs- 
squinting  at  me  from  one  eye,  as  I  left  the  stage 
and  came  forward  toward  the  house. 

"  Ah  !  is  this  you  ? "  said  he,  as  I  came  near 
to  him,  speaking  thickly,  and  getting  up  with 
a  heavy  motion.  I  now  recognized  the  altered 
person  of  Simon  Blade.  On  looking  at  him 
closer,  I  saw  that  the  eye  which  I  had  thought 
only  shut  was  in  fact  destroyed.  How  vividly, 
now,  uprose  in  imagination  the  scenes  I  had 
witnessed  during  my  last  night  in  his  bar-room ; 
the  night  when  a  brutal  mob,  whom  he  had  ine 
briated  with  liquor,  came  near  murdering  him. 

"  Glad  to  see  you  once  more,  my  boy !  Glad 
to  see  you  !  I — I — I'm  not  just — you  see.  How 
are  you  ?  How  are  you  ? " 

And  he  shook  my  hand  with  a  drunken 
show  of  cordiality. 


NIGHT   THE    EIGHTH.  301 

I  felt  snocked  and  disgusted.  Wretched 
man !  down  the  crumbling  sides  of  the  pit  he 
had  digged  for  other  feet,  he  was  himself 
sliding,  while  not  enough  strength  remained 
even  to  struggle  with  his  fate. 

I  tried  for  a  few  minutes  to  talk  with  him ; 
but  his  mind  was  altogether  beclouded,  and 
his  questions  and  answers  incoherent ;  so  I  left 
him,  and  entered  the  bar-room. 

"  Can  I  get  accommodations  here  for  a  couple 
of  days?"  I  inquired  of  a  stupid,  sleepy-look 
ing  man,  who  was  sitting  in  a  chair  behind  the 
bar. 

"I  reckon  so,"  he  answered,  but  did  not 
rise. 

I  turned,  and  walked  a  few  paces  toward  the 
door,  and  then  walked  back  again. 

"  I'd  like  to  get  a  room,"  said  I. 

The  man  got  up  slowly,  and  going  to  a  desk, 
fumbled  about  in  it  for  a  while.  At  length  he 
brought  out  an  old,  dilapidated  blank-book, 
and  throwing  it  open  on  the  counter,  asked 


302  TEN    NIGHTS    IN    A    BAB-ROOM. 

me,  with  an  indifferent  manner,  to  write  down 
my  name, 

"  I'll  take  a  pen,  if  you  please." 

"  Oh,  yes ! "  And  he  hunted  about  again  in 
the  desk,  from  which,  after  a  while,  he  brought 
forth  the  blackened  stump  of  a  quill,  and 
pushed  it  toward  me  across  the  counter. 

"  Ink,"  said  I — fixing  my  eyes  upon  him  with 
a  look  of  displeasure. 

"  I  don't  believe  there  is  any,"  he  muttered. 
"Frank,"  and  he  called  the  landlord's  son, 
going  to  the  door  behind  the  bar  as  he  did 
so. 

"What  d'ye  want?"  a  rough,  ill-natured 
voice  answered. 

"Where's  the  ink?" 

"Don't  know  any  thing  about  it." 

"  You  had  it  last.   What  did  you  do  with  it  ? " 

"Nothing!"  was  growled  back. 

"Well,  I  wishjou'd  find  it." 

"Find  it  yourself,  and "  I  cannot  repeat 

the  profane  language  he  used. 


NIGHT   THE    EIGHTH.  303 

"Never  mind,"  said  I.  "A  pencil  will  do 
just  as  well."  And  I  drew  one  from  my  pocket. 
The  attempt  to  write  with  this,  on  the  be 
grimed  and  greasy  page  of  the  register,  was 
only  partially  successful.  It  would  have  puz 
zled  almost  any  one  to  make  out  the  name. 
From  the  date  of  the  last  entry,  it  appeared 
that  mine  was  the  first  arrival,  for  over  a  week, 
of  any  person  desiring  a  room. 

As  I  finished  writing  my  name,  Frank  came 
stalking  in,  with  a  cigar  in  his  mouth,  and  a 
cloud  of  smoke  around  his  head.  He  had 
grown  into  a  stout  man — though  his  face  pre 
sented  little  that  was  manly,  in  the  true  sense 
of  the  word.  It  was  disgustingly  sensual.  On 
seeing  me,  a  slight  flush  tinged  his  cheeks. 

"  How  do  you  do  ? "  he  said,  offering  me  his 
hand.  "  Peter," — he  turned  to  the  lazy-looking 
bar-keeper — "tell  Jane  to  have  No.  11  put  in 
order  for  a  gentleman  immediately,  and  tell  her 
to  be  sure  and  change  the  bed-linen." 

"Things  look  rather  dull  here,"  I  remarked, 


304  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

as  the  bar-keeper  went  out  to  do  as  he  had  been 
directed. 

"  Rather ;  it's  a  dull  place,  anyhow." 

u  How  is  your  mother  ? "  I  inquired. 

A  slight,  troubled  look  came  into  his  face,  as 
he  answered : 

"  No  better." 

"  She's  sick,  then  ? " 

"  Yes ;  she's  been  sick  a  good  while ;  and  I'm 
afraid  will  never  be  much  better."  His  man^ 
ner  was  not  altogether  cold  and  indifferent,  but 
there  was  a  want  of  feeling  in  his  voice. 

"Is  she  at  home?" 

"  No,  sir." 

As  he  showed  no  inclination  to  say  more  on 
the  subject,  I  asked  no  further  questions,  and 
he  soon  found  occasion  to  leave  me. 

The  bar-room  had  undergone  no  material 
change,  so  far  as  its  furniture  and  arrange 
ments  were  concerned  ;  but  a  very  great  change 
was  apparent  in  the  condition  of  these.  The 
brass  rod  around  the  bar,  which,  at  my  last 


NIGHT   THE    EIGHTH.  305 

visit,  was  brightly  polished,  was  now  a  green 
ish-black,  and  there  came  from  it  an  unpleasant 
odor  of  verdigris.  The  walls  were  fairly  coated 
with  dust,  smoke,  and  fly-specks,  and  the  win 
dows  let  in  the  light  but  feebly  through  the 
dirt-obscured  glass.  The  floor  was  filthy.  Be 
hind  the  bar,  on  the  shelves  designed  for  a  dis 
play  of  liquors,  was  a  confused  mingling  of 
empty  or  half-filled  decanters,  cigar-boxes, 
lemons  and  lemon-peel,  old  newspapers,  glasses, 
a  broken  pitcher,  a  hat,  a  soiled  vest,  and  a 
pair  of  blacking-brushes,  with  other  incongru 
ous  things,  not  now  remembered.  The  air  of 
the  room  was  loaded  with  offensive  vapors. 

Disgusted  with  every  thing  about  the  bar,  I 
went  into  the  sitting-room.  Here,  there  was 
some  order  in  the  arrangement  of  the  dingy 
furniture ;  but  you  might  have  written  your 
name  in  dust  on  the  looking-glass  and  table. 
The  smell  of  the  torpid  atmosphere  was  even 
worse  than  that  of  the  bar-room.  So  I  did 
not  linger  here,  but  passed  through  the  hall, 


306  TEN    NIGHTS    IN    A    BAR-ROOM. 

and  out  upon  the  porch,  to  get  a  draught  of 
pure  air. 

Slade  still  sat  leaning  against  the  wall. 

"  Fine  day  this,"  said  he,  speaking  in  a  mum 
bling  kind  of  voice. 

"Very  fine,"  I  answered. 

"  Yes,  very  fine." 

u  Not  doing  so  well  as  you  were  a  few  years 
ago,"  said  I. 

"No — you  see — these — these  'ere  blamed 
temperance  people  are  ruining  every  thing." 

"Ah!     Is  that  so?" 

"Yes.  Cedarville  isn't  what  it  was  when 
you  first  came  to  the  '  Sickle  and  Sheaf.'  I — 
I — you  see.  Curse  the  temperance  people ! 
They've  ruined  every  thing,  you  see.  Every 
thing !  Kuined ' 

And  he  muttered,  and  mouthed  his  words  in 
such  a  way,  that  I  could  understand  but  little 
he  said ;  and,  in  that  little,  there  was  scarcely 
any  coherency.  So  I  left  him,  with  a  feeling 
of  pity  in  my  heart  for  the  wreck  he  had  be- 


NIGHT   THE    EIGHTH.  30? 

come,  and  went  into  the  town  to  call  upon  one 
or  two  gentlemen  with  whom  1  had  business. 

In  the  course  of  the  afternoon,  I  learned  that 
Mrs.  Slade  was  in  an  insane  asylum,  about  five 
miles  from  Cedarville.  The  terrible  events  of 
the  day  on  which  young  Hammond  was  mur 
dered  completed  the  work  of  mental  ruin,  be 
gun  at  the  time  her  husband  abandoned  the 
quiet,  honorable  calling  of  a  miller,  and  became 
a  tavern-keeper.  Reason  could  hold  its  posi 
tion  no  longer.  When  word  came  to  her  that 
Willy  and  his  mother  were  both  dead,  she  ut 
tered  a  wild  shriek,  and  fell  down  in  a  fainting 
fit.  From  that  period  the  balance  of  her  mind 
was  destroyed.  Long  before  this,  her  friends 
saw  that  reason  wavered.  Prank  had  been  her 
idol  A  pure,  bright,  affectionate  boy  he  was, 
when  she  removed  with  him  from  their  pleas 
ant  cottage-home,  where  all  the  surrounding 
influences  were  good,  into  a  tavern,  where  an 
angel  could  scarcely  remain  without  corrup 
tion.  From  the  moment  this  change  was 
20 


305  TEN    NIGHTS    IN    A    BAft-ROOM. 

decided  on  by  her  husband,  a  shadow  fell  upon 
her  heart.  She  saw,  before  her  husband,  her 
children,  and  herself,  a  yawning  pit,  and  felt 
that,  in  a  very  few  years,  all  of  them  must 
plunge  down  into  its  fearful  darkness. 

Alas !  how  quickly  began  the  realization  of 
her  worst  fears  in  the  corruption  of  her  wor 
shiped  boy  !  And  how  vain  proved  all  effort 
and  remonstrance,  looking  to  his  safety,  whether 
made  with  himself  or  his  father !  From  the 
day  the  tavern  was  opened,  and  Frank  drew 
into  his  lungs  full  draughts  of  the  changed 
atmosphere  by  which  he  was  now  surrounded, 
the  work  of  moral  deterioration  commenced. 
The  very  smell  of  the  liquor  exhilarated  him 
unnaturally;  while  the  subjects  of  conversation, 
so  new  to  him,  that  found  discussion  in  the 
bar-room,  soon  came  to  occupy  a  prominent 
place  in  his  imagination,  to  the  exclusion  of 
those  humane,  child-like,  tender,  and  heavenly 
thoughts  and  impressions  it  had  been  the 
mother's  care  to  impart  and  awaken. 


NIGHT    THE    EIGHTH.  309 

Ah  !  with  what  an  eager  zest  does  the  heart 
drink  in  of  evil.  And  how  almost  hopeless  is 
the  case  of  a  boy,  surrounded,  as  Frank  was,  by 
the  corrupting,  debasing  associations  of  a  bar 
room  !  Had  his  father  meditated  his  ruin,  he 
could  not  have  more  surely  laid  his  plans  for 
the  fearful  consummation ;  and  he  reaped  as 
he  had  sown.  With  a  selfish  desire  to  get 
gain,  he  embarked  in  the  trade  of  corruption, 
ruin,  and  death,  weakly  believing  that  he  and 
his  could  pass  through  the  fire  harmless.  How 
sadly  a  few  years  demonstrated  his  error,  we 
have  seen. 

Flora,  I  learned,  was  with  her  mother,  de 
voting  her  life  to  her.  The  dreadful  death  of 
Willy  Hammond,  for  whom  she  had  conceived 
a  strong  attachment,  came  near  depriving  her 
of  reason  also.  Since  the  day  on  which  that 
awful  tragedy  occurred,  she  had  never  even 
looked  upon  her  old  home.  She  went  away 
with  her  unconscious  mother,  and  ever  since 
had  remained  with  her — devoting  her  life  to 


310  TEN    NIGHTS    IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

her  comfort.  Long  before  this,  all  her  own 
and  mother's  influence  over  her  brother  had 
come  to  an  end.  It  mattered  not  how  she 
sought  to  stay  his  feet,  so  swiftly  moving  along 
the  downward  way,  whether  by  gentle  en 
treaty,  earnest  remonstrance,  or  tears ;  in  either 
case,  wounds  for  her  own  heart  were  the  sure 
consequences,  while  his  steps  never  lingered  a 
moment.  A  swift  destiny  seemed  hurrying 
him  on  to  ruin.  The  change  in  her  father — 
once  so  tender,  so  cheerful  in  his  tone,  so  proud 
of  and  loving  toward  his  daughter — was  an 
other  source  of  deep  grief  to  her  pure  young 
spirit.  Over  him,  as  well  as  over  her  brother, 
all  "her  power  was  lost ;  and  he  even  avoided 
her,  as  though  her  presence  were  an  offense  to 
him.  And  so,  when  she  went  out  from  her  un 
happy  home,  she  took  with  her  no  desire  to 
return.  Even  when  imagination  bore  her  back 
to  the  "Sickle  and  Sheaf,"  she  felt  an  intense, 
heart-sickening  repulsion  toward  the  place 
where  she  had  first  felt  the  poisoned  arrows  of 


NIGHT   THE   EIGHTH.  311 

life ;  and  in  the  depths  of  her  spirit  she  prayed 
that  her  eyes  might  never  look  upon  it  again. 
In  her  almost  cloister-like  seclusion,  she  sought 
to  gather  the  mantle  of  oblivion  about  her 
heart. 

Had  not  her  mother's  condition  made  Flora's 
duty  a  plain  one,  the  true,  unselfish  instincts  of 
her  heart  would  have  doubtless  led  her  back 
to  the  polluted  home  she  had  left,  there,  in  a 
kind  of  living  death,  to  minister  as  best  she 
could  to  the  comfort  of  a  debased  father  and 
brother.  But  she  was  spared  that  trial — that 
fruitless  sacrifice. 

Evening  found  me  once  more  in  the  bar-room 
of  the  "  Sickle  and  Sheaf."  The  sleepy,  indif 
ferent  bar-keeper,  was  now  more  in  his  element 
— looked  brighter,  and  had  quicker  motions. 
Slade,  who  had  partially  recovered  from  the 
stupefying  effects  of  the  heavy  draughts  of  ale 
with  which  he  washed  down  his  dinner,  was 
also  in  a  better  condition,  though  not  inclined 
to  talk.  He  was  sitting  at  a  table,  alone,  with 


312  TEN   NIGHTS    IN    A   BAB-BOOM. 

his  eyes  wandering  about  the  room.  Whether 
his  thoughts  were  agreeable  or  disagreeable,  it 
was  not  easy  to  determine.  Frank  was  there, 
the  centre  of  a  noisy  group  of  coarse  fellows, 
whose  vulgar  sayings  and  profane  expletives 
continually  rung  through  the  room.  The 
noisiest,  coarsest,  and  most  profane  was  Frank 
Slade ;  yet  did  not  the  incessant  volume  of  bad 
language  that  flowed  from  his  tongue  appear  in 
the  least  to, disturb  his  father. 

Outraged,  at  length,  by  this  disgusting  ex 
hibition,  that  had  not  even  the  excuse  of  an 
exciting  cause,  I  was  leaving  the  bar-room,  when 
I  heard  some  one  remark  to  a  young  man  who 
had  just  come  in  : 

"  What !  you  here  again,  Ned  ?  Ain't  you 
afraid  your  old  man  will  be  after  you,  as 
usual  ? " 

"  No,"  answered  the  person  addressed,  chuck 
ing  inwardly,  "he's  gone  to  a  prayer-meeting." 

"You'll  at  least  have  the  benefit  of  his 
prayers,"  was  lightly  remarked. 


NIGHT    THE    EIGHTH.  313 

I  turaed  to  observe  the  young  man  more 
closely.  His  face  I  remembered,  though  I  could 
not  identify  him  at  first.  But,  when  I  heard 
him  addressed  soon  after  as  Ned  Hargrove,  I 
had  a  vivid  recollection  of  a  little  incident  that 
occurred  some  years  before,  and  which  then 
made  a  strong  impression.  The  reader  has 
hardly  forgotten  the  visit  of  Mr.  Hargrove  to 
the  bar-room  of  the  "Sickle  and  Sheaf,"  and 
the  conversation  among  some  of  its  inmates, 
which  his  withdrawal,  in  company  with  his 
son,  then  occasioned.  The  father's  watchful 
ness  over  his  boy,  and  his  efforts  to  save  him 
from  the  allurements  and  temptations  of  a  bar 
room,  had  proved,  as  now  appeared,  unavailing. 
The  son  was  several  years  older;  but  it  was 
sadly  evident,  from  the  expression  of  his  face, 
that  he  had  been  growing  older  in  evil  faster 
than  in  years. 

The  few  words  that  I  have  mentioned  as 
passing  between  this  young  man  and  another 
inmate  of  the  bar-room,  caused  me  to  turn  back 


314  TEN    NIGHTS    IN    A    BAR-KOOM. 

from  the  door,  through  which  I  was  about 
passing,  and  take  a  chair  near  to  where  Har 
grove  had  seated  himself.  As  I  did  so,  the 
eyes  of  Simon  Slade  rested  on  the  last-named 
individual. 

"  Ned  Hargrove  ! "  he  said,  speaking  roughly 
— "if  you  want  a  drink,  you'd  better  get  it, 
and  make  yourself  scarce." 

"  Don't  trouble  yourself,"  retorted  the  young 
man,  "  you'll  get  your  money  for  the  drink  in 
good  time." 

This  irritated  the  landlord,  who  swore  at 
Hargrove  violently,  and  said  something  about 
not  wanting  boys  about  his  place  who  couldn't 
stir  from  home  without  having  "daddy  or 
mammy  running  after  them." 

"Never  fear  ! "  cried  out  the  person  who  had 
first  addressed  Hargrove — "  his  old  man's  gone 
to  a  prayer-meeting.  We  shan't  have  the  light 
of  his  pious  countenance  here  to-night." 

I  fixed  my  eyes  upon  the  young  man  to  see 
what  effect  this  coarse  and  irreverent  allusion 


NIGHT   THE    EIGHTH.  315 

to  his  father  would  have.  A  slight  tinge  of 
shame  was  in  his  face ;  but  I  saw  that  he  had 
not  sufficient  moral  courage  to  resent  the 
shameful  desecration  of  a  parent's  name.  How 
should  he,  when  he  was  himself  the  first  to 
desecrate  that  name  ? 

"  If  he  were  forty  fathoms  deep  in  the  infer, 
nal  regions,"  answered  Slade,  "  he'd  find  out 
that  Ned  was  here,  and  get  half  an  hour's  leave 
of  absence  to  come  after  him.  The  fact  is,  I'm 
tired  of  seeing  his  solemn,  sanctimonious  face 
here  every  night.  If  the  boy  hasn't  spirit 
enough  to  tell  him  to  mind  his  own  business, 
as  I  have  done  more  than  fifty  times,  why,  let 
the  boy  stay  away  himself." 

"  Why  don't  you  send  him  off  with  a  flea  in 
his  ear,  Ned?"  said  one  of  the  company,  a 
young  man  scarcely  his  own  age.  "My  old 
man  tried  that  game  with  me,  but  he  soon 
found  that  I  could  hold  the  winning  cards." 

"Just  what  I'm  going  to  do  the  very  next 
time  he  comes  after  me." 


316  TEN    NIGHTS    IN    A    BAB-ROOM. 

"  Oh,  yes !  So  youVe  said  twenty  times," 
remarked  Frank  Slade,  in  a  sneering,  insolent 
manner. 

Edward  Hargrove  had  not  the  spirit  to  resent 
this ;  he  only  answered : 

"Just  let  him  show  himself  here  to-night, 
and  you  will  see." 

"  No,  we  won't  see,"  sneered  Frank. 

"  Wouldn't  it  be  fun  ! "  was  exclaimed.  "  I 
hope  to  be  on  hand,  should  it  ever  come  off." 

"  He's  as  'f raid  as  death  of  the  old  chap," 
laughed  a  sottish-looking  man,  whose  age  ought 
to  have  inspired  him  with  some  respect  for  the 
relation  between  father  and  son,  and  doubtless 
would,  had  not  a  long  course  of  drinking  and 
familiarity  with  debasing  associates  blunted  his 
moral  sense. 

"  Now  for  it ! "  I  heard  uttered,  in  a  quick, 
delighted  voice.  "  Now  for  fun  !  Spunk  up 
to  him,  Ned  !  Never  say  die  ! " 

I  turned  toward  the  door,  and  there  stood 
the  father  of  Edward  Hargrove.  How  well  I 


NIGHT   THE    EIGHTH.  317 

remembered  the  broad,  fine  forehead,  the  steady, 
yet  mild  eyes,  the  firm  lips,  the  elevated,  supe 
rior  bearing  of  the  man  I  had  once  before  seen 
in  that  place,  and  on  a  like  errand.  His  form 
was  slightly  bent  now ;  his  hair  was  whiter ; 
his  eyes  farther  back  in  his  head ;  his  face  thin 
ner  and  marked  with  deeper  lines ;  and  there 
was  in  the  whole  expression  of  his  face  a  touch 
ing  sadness.  Yet,  superior  to  the  marks  of 
time  and  suffering,  an  unflinching  resolution 
was  visible  in  his  countenance,  that  gave  to  it 
a  dignity,  and  extorted  involuntary  respect. 
He  stood  still,  after  advancing  a  few  paces,  and 
then,  his  searching  eyes  having  discovered  his 
son,  he  said  mildly,  yet  firmly,  and  with  such  a 
strength  of  parental  love  in  his  voice  that  re 
sistance  was  scarcely  possible : 

"  Edward  !     Edward  !     Come,  my  son." 

"  Don't  go."     The  words  were  spoken  in  an 

under-tone,  and  he  who  uttered  them  turned 

his  face  away  from  Mr.  Hargrove,  so  that  the 

old  man  could  not  see  the  motion  of  his  lips. 


318  TEN    NIGHTS    IN    A    BAR-ROOM. 

A  little  while  before,  he  had  spoken  bravelj 
against  the  father  of  Edward ;  now,  he  coulc 
not  stand  up  in  his  presence. 

I  looked  at  Edward.  He  did  not  move  fron 
where  he  was  sitting,  and  yet  I  saw  that  t< 
resist  his  father  cost  him  no  light  struggle. 

"Edward."  There  was  nothing  imperative 
—nothing  stern — nothing  commanding  in  th< 
father's  voice;  but  its  great,  its  almost  irresist 
ible  power,  lay  in  its  expression  of  the  father's 
belief  that  his  son  would  instantly  leave  th< 
place.  And  it  was  this  power  that  prevailed 
Edward  arose,  and,  with  eyes  cast  upon  th< 
floor,  was  moving  away  from  his  companions 
when  Frank  Slade  exclaimed : 

"Poor,  weak  fool!" 

It  was  a  lightning  flash  of  indignation 
rather  than  a  mere  glance  from  the  humai 
eye,  that  Mr.  Hargrove  threw  instantly  upor 
Frank;  while  his  fine  form  sprung  up  erect 
He  did  not  speak,  but  merely  transfixed  him 
with  a  look.  Frank  curled  his  lip  impotently. 


NIGHT   THE    EIGHTH.  319 

as  he  tried  to  return  the  old  man's  withering 
glances. 

"  Now  look  here ! "  said  Simon  Slade,  in 
some  wrath,  "there's  been  just  about  enough 
of  this.  I'm  getting  tired  of  it.  Why  don't 
you  keep  Ned  at  home  ?  Nobody  wants  him 
here." 

"Refuse  to  sell  him  liquor,"  returned  Mr. 
Hargrove. 

"  It's  my  trade  to  sell  liquor,"  answered 
Slade,  boldly. 

"  I  wish  you  had  a  more  honorable  calling," 
said  Hargrove,  almost  mournfully. 

"If  you  insult  my  father,  I'll  strike  you 
down ! "  exclaimed  Frank  Slade,  starting  up 
and  assuming  a  threatening  aspect. 

"I  respect  filial  devotion,  meet  it  where  I 
will,"  calmly  replied  Mr.  Hargrove, — "I  only 
wish  it  had  a  better  foundation  in  this  case.  I 
only  wish  the  father  had  merited— 

I  will  not  stain  my  page  with  the  fearful 
oath  that  Frank  Slade  yelled,  rather  than  ut- 


320  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

tered,  as,  with  clenched  fist,  he  sprung  toward 
Mr.  Hargrove.  But  ere  he  had  reached  th< 
unruffled  old  man — who  stood  looking  at  hinc 
as  one  would  look  into  the  eyes  of  a  wild  beast 
confident  that  he  could  not  stand  the  gaze— s 
firm  hand  grasped  his  arm,  and  a  rough  voice 
said : 

"  Avast,  there,  young  man !  Touch  a  hair 
of  that  white  head,  and  I'll  wring  your  neck 
off." 

"  Lyon ! "  As  Frank  uttered  the  man's 
name,  he  raised  his  fist  to  strike  him.  A  mo 
ment  the  clenched  hand  remained  poised  in 
the  air ;  then  it  fell  slowly  to  his  side,  and  he 
contented  himself  with  an  oath  and  a  vile  epi 
thet. 

"  You  can  swear  to  your  heart's  content.  It 
will  do  nobody  any  harm  but  yourself,"  coolly 
replied  Mr.  Lyon,  whom  I  now  recognized  as 
the  person  with  whom  I  had  held  several  con 
versations  during  previous  visits. 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Lyon,"  said  Mr.  Hargrove, 


NIGHT   THE    EIGHTH.  321 

"for  this  inanly  interference.  It  is  no  more 
than  I  should  have  expected  from  you." 

"I  never  suffer  a  young  man  to  strike  an 
old  man,"  said  Lyon,  firmly.  "Apart  from 
that,  Mr,  Hargrove,  there  are  other  reasons 
why  your  person  must  be  free  from  violence 
where  I  am." 

"This  is  a  bad  place  for  you,  Lyon,"  said 
Mr.  Hargrove ;  "  and  I've  said  so  to  you  a  good 
many  times."  He  spoke  in  rather  an  under 
tone.  "  Why  will  you  come  here  ? " 

"It's  a  bad  place,  I  know,"  replied  Lyon, 
speaking  out  boldly,  "and  we  all  know  it. 
But  habit,  Mr.  Hargrove — habit.  That's  the 
cursed  thing !  If  the  bar-rooms  were  all  shut 
up,  there  would  be  another  story  to  tell.  Get 
us  the  Maine  law,  and  there  will  be  some 
chance  for  us." 

"  Why  don't  you  vote  the  temperance  ticket  ?" 
asked  Mr.  Hargrove. 

"  Why  did  I  ?  you'd  better  ask,"  said  Lyon. 

"  I  thought  you  voted  against  us." 


TEN    NIGHTS    IN    A    BAR-ROOM. 

"Not  I.  Ain't  quite  so  blind  to  my  own  in 
terests  as  that.  And,  if  the  truth  were  known, 
I  should  not  at  all  wonder  if  every  man  in  this 
room,  except  Slade  and  his  son,  voted  on  your 
side  of  the  house." 

"It's  a  little  strange,  then,"  said  Mr.  Har 
grove,  "that  with  the  drinking  men  on  our 
side,  we  failed  to  secure  the  election." 

"You  must  blame  that  on  your  moderate 
men,  who  see  no  danger  and  go  blind  with 
their  party,"  answered  Lyon.  "We  have 
looked  the  evil  in  the  face,  and  know  its  dire 
ful  quality." 

"  Come  !  I  would  like  to  talk  with  you,  Mr. 
Lyon." 

Mr.  Hargrove,  his  son,  and  Mr.  Lyon  went 
out  together.  As  they  left  the  room,  Frank 
Slade  said : 

"  What  a  cursed  liar  and  hypocrite  he  is ! " 

"Who?"  was  asked. 

"Why,  Lyon,"  answered  Frank,  boldly. 

"You'd  better  say  that  to  his  face." 


NIGHT  THE   EIGHTH.  323 

"It  wouldn't  be  good  for  him,"  remarked 
one  of  the  company. 

At  this  Frank  started  to  his  feet,  stalked 
about  the  room,  and  put  on  all  the  disgusting 
airs  of  a  drunken  braggart.  Even  his  father 
saw  the  ridiculous  figure  he  cut,  and  growled 
out : 

"There,  Frank,  that'll  do.  Don't  make  a 
miserable  fool  of  yourself  ! " 

At  which  Frank  retorted,  with  so  much  of 
insolence  that  his  father  flew  into  a  towering 
passion,  and  ordered  him  to  leave  the  bar-room. 

"  You  can  go  out  yourself  if  you  don't  like 
the  company.  I'm  very  well  satisfied,"  an 
swered  Frank. 

"Leave  this  room,  you  impudent  young 
scoundrel ! " 

"  Can't  go,  my  amiable  friend,"  said  Frank, 
with  a  cool  self-possession  that  maddened  his 
father,  who  got  up  hastily,  and  moved  across  the 
bar-room  to  the  place  where  he  was  standing. 

"  Gk>  out,  I  tell  you  ! "  Slade  spoke  resolutely. 
21 


324  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

"Would  be  happy  to  oblige  you,"  Frank 
said,  in  a  taunting  voice ;  "  but,  'pon  my  word, 
it  isn't  at  all  convenient." 

Half  intoxicated  as  he  was,  and  already 
nearly  blind  with  passion,  Slade  lifted  his  hand 
to  strike  his  son.  And  the  blow  would  have 
fallen  had  not  some  one  caught  his  arm,  and 
held  him  back  from  the  meditated  violence. 
Even  the  debased  visitors  of  this  bar-room 
could  not  stand  by  and  see  nature  outraged  in  a 
bloody  strife  between  father  and  son ;  for  it  was 
plain  from  the  face  and  quickly  assumed  atti 
tude  of  Frank,  that  if  his  father  had  laid  his  hand 
upon  him,  he  would  have  struck  him  in  return. 

I  could  not  remain  to  hear  the  awful  impre 
cations  that  father  and  son,  in  their  impotent 
rage,  called  down  from  heaven  upon  each 
other's  heads.  It  was  the  most  shocking  exhi 
bition  of  depraved  human  nature  that  I  had 
ever  seen.  And  so  I  left  the  bar-room,  glad  to 
escape  from  its  stifling  atmosphere  and  revolt 
ing  scenes, 


NIGHT   THE   NINTH.  325 


NIGHT    THE    NINTH. 

A   FEAEFUL    CONSUMMATION. 

HVTEITHER  Slade  nor  his  son  was  present 
at  the  breakfast-table  on  the  next  morn 
ing.  As  for  myself,  I  did  not  eat  with  much 
appetite.  Whether  this  defect  arose  from  the 
state  of  my  mind,  or  the  state  of  the  food  set 
before  me,  I  did  not  stop  to  inquire;  but  left 
the  stifling,  offensive  atmosphere  of  the  dining- 
room  in  a  very  few  moments  after  entering 
that  usually  attractive  place  for  a  hungry 
man. 

A  few  early  drinkers  were  already  in  the 
bar-room — men  with  shattered  nerves  and 
cadaverous  faces,  who  could  not  begin  the 
day's  work  without  the  stimulus  of  brandy  or 
whisky.  They  came  in,  with  gliding  foot 
steps,  asked  for  what  they  wanted  in  low 


326  TEN   NIGHTS    IN    A   BAR-ROOM. 

voices,  drank  in  silence,  and  departed.  It  was 
a  melancholy  sight  to  look  upon. 

About  nine  o'clock  the  landlord  made  his 
appearance.  He,  too,  came  gliding  into  the 
bar-room,  and  his  first  act  was  to  seize  upon  a 
brandy  decanter,  pour  out  nearly  half  a  pint 
of  the  fiery  liquid,  and  drink  it  off.  How 
badly  his  hand  shook — so  badly  that  he  spilled 
the  brandy  both  in  pouring  it  out  and  in  lift 
ing  the  glass  to  his  lips  !  What  a  shattered 
wreck  he  was !  He  looked  really  worse  now 
than  he  did  on  the  day  before,  when  drink 
gave  an  artificial  vitality  to  his  system,  a  ten 
sion  to  his  muscles,  and  light  to  his  counte 
nance.  The  miller  of  ten  years  ago,  and  the 
tavern-keeper  of  to-day !  AVho  could  have 
identified  them  as  one  ? 

Slade  was  turning  from  the  bar,  when  a  man 
came  in.  I  noticed  an  instant  change  in  the 
landlord's  countenance.  He  looked  startled ; 
almost  frightened.  The  man  drew  a  small 
package  from  his  pocket,  and  after  selecting 


NIGHT   THE   NINTH.  327 

a  paper  therefrom,  presented  it  to  Slade,  who 
received  it  with  a  nervous  reluctance,  opened, 
and  let  his  eye  fall  upon  the  writing  within.  I 
was  observing  him  closely  at  the  time,  and  saw 
his  countenance  flush  deeply.  In  a  moment  or 
two  it  became  pale  again — paler  even  than  be 
fore. 

"Very  well— all  right.  I'll  attend  to  it," 
said  the  landlord,  trying  to  recover  himself,  yet 
swallowing  with  every  sentence. 

The  man,  who  was  no  other  than  a  sheriff's 
deputy,  and  who  gave  him  a  sober,  professional 
look,  then  went  out  with  a  firm  step,  and  an 
air  of  importance.  As  he  passed  through  the 
outer  door,  Slade  retired  from  the  bar-room. 

"Trouble  coming,"  I  heard  the  bar-keeper 
remark,  speaking  partly  to  himself  and  partly 
with  the  view,  as  was  evident  from  his  manner, 
of  leading  me  to  question  him.  But  this  I  did 
not  feel  that  it  was  right  to  do. 

"  Got  the  sheriff  on  him  at  last,"  added  the 
bar-keeper. 


328  TEN   NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

"  What's  the  matter,  Bill  ? "  inquired  a  man 
who  now  came  in  with  a  bustling,  important 
air,  and  leaned  familiarly  over  the  bar.  "Who 
was  Jenkins  after  ? " 

"  The  old  man,"  replied  the  bar-keeper,  in  a 
voice  that  showed  pleasure  rather  than  regret. 

"No!" 

"It's  a  fact."  Bill,  the  bar-keeper,  actually 
smiled. 

"  What's  to  pay  ? "  said  the  man. 

"  Don't  know,  and  don't  care  much." 

"  Did  he  serve  a  summons  or  an  execution  ? " 

"Can't  tell." 

"Judge  Lyman's  suit  went  against  him." 

"Did  it?" 

"Yes;  and  I  heard  Judge  Lyman  swear,  that 
if  he  got  him  on  the  hip,  he'd  sell  him  out,  bag 
and  basket.  And  he's  the  man  to  keep  his  word." 

"  I  never  could  just  make  out,"  said  the  bar 
keeper,  "  how  he  ever  came  to  owe  Judge  Ly 
man  so  much.  I've  never  known  of  any  busi 
ness  transactions  between  them." 


NIGHT  THE   NINTH.  329 

"  It's  been  dog  eat  dog,  I  rather  guess,"  said 
the  man. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that  ? "  inquired  the 
bar-keeper. 

"  You've  heard  of  dogs  hunting  in  pairs  ? " 

"  Oh,  yes." 

"  Well,  since  Harvey  Green  got  his  deserts, 
the  business  of  fleecing  our  silly  young  fellows, 
who  happened  to  have  more  money  than  wit  or 
discretion,  has  been  in  the  hands  of  Judge  Ly- 
man  and  Slade.  They  hunted  together,  Slade 
holding  the  game,  while  the  Judge  acted  as 
blood-sucker.  But  that  business  was  inter 
rupted  about  a  year  ago;  and  game  got  so 
scarce  that,  as  I  suggested,  dog  began  to  eat 
dog.  And  here  comes  the  end  of  the  matter,  if 
I'm  not  mistaken.  So  mix  us  a  stiff  toddy.  I 
want  one  more  good  drink  at  the  i  Sickle  and 
Sheaf,'  before  the  colors  are  struck." 

And  the  man  chuckled  at  his  witty  effort. 

During  the  day,  I  learned  that  affairs  stood 
pretty  much  as  this  man  had  conjectured.  Ly- 


330  TEN    NIGHTS    IN   A    BAR-ROOM. 

man's  suits  had  been  on  sundry  notes  payable 
on  demand;  but  nobody  knew  of  any  property 
transactions  between  him  and  Slade.  On  the 
part  of  Slade,  no  defense  had  been  made — the 
suit  going  by  default.  The  visit  of  the  sheriff's 
officer  was  for  the  purpose  of  serving  an  ex 
ecution. 

As  I  walked  through  Cedarville  on  that  day, 
the  whole  aspect  of  the  place  seemed  changed. 
I  questioned  with  myself,  often,  whether  this 
were  really  so,  or  only  the  effect  of  imagina 
tion.  The  change  was  from  cheerfulness  and 
thrift,  to  gloom  and  neglect.  There  was,  to 
me,  a  brooding  silence  in  the  air;  a  pause  in 
the  life-movement;  a  folding  of  the  hands,  so 
to  speak,  because  hope  had,  failed  from  the 
heart.  The  residence  of  Mr.  Harrison,  who, 
some  two  years  before,  had  suddenly  awakened 
to  a  lively  sense  of  the  evil  of  rum-selling,  be 
cause  his  own  sons  were  discovered  to  be  in 
danger,  had  been  one  of  the  most  tasteful  in 
Cedarville.  I  had  often  stopped  to  admire  the 


NIGHT   THE    NINTH.  331 

beautiful  shrubbery  and  flowers  with  which  it 
was  surrounded ;  the  walks  so  clear — the  bor 
ders  so  fresh  and  even — the  arbors  so  cool  and 
inviting.  There  was  not  a  spot  upon  which 
the  eye  could  rest,  that  did  not  show  the  hand 
of  taste.  When  I  now  came  opposite  to  this 
house,  I  was  no  longer  in  doubt  as  to  the  actu 
ality  of  a  change.  There  were  no  marked 
evidences  of  neglect ;  but  the  high  cultivation 
and  nice  regard  for  the  small  details  were  lack 
ing.  The  walks  were  cleanly  swept;  but  the 
box-borders  were  not  so  carefully  trimmed. 
The  vines  and  bushes  that  in  former  times 
were  cut  and  tied  so  evenly,  could  hardly  have 
felt  the  keen  touch  of  the  pruning-knife  for 
months.  • 

As  I  paused  to  note  the  change,  a  lady,  some 
what  beyond  the  middle  age,  came  from  the 
house.  I  was  struck  by  the  deep  gloom  that 
overshadowed  her  countenance.  Ah  !  said  I  to 
myself,  as  I  passed  on,  how  many  dear  hopes, 
that  once  lived  in  that  heart,  must  have  been 


332  TEN   NIGHTS    IN    A   BAR-ROOM. 

scattered  to  the  winds.  As  I  conjectured,  this 
was  Mrs.  Harrison,  and  I  was  not  unprepared 
to  hear,  as  I  did  a  few  hours  afterward,  that 
her  two  sons  had  fallen  into  drinking  habits ; 
and,  not  only  this,  had  been  enticed  to  the 
gaming-table.  Unhappy  mother  !  What  a  life 
time  of  wretchedness  was  compressed  for  thee 
into  a  few  short  years  ! 

I  walked  on,  noting,  here  and  there,  changes 
even  more  marked  than  appeared  about  the 
residence  of  Mr.  Harrison.  Judge  Ly man's 
beautiful  place  showed  utter  neglect ;  and  so 
did  one  or  two  others  that,  on  my  first  visit  to 
Cedarville,  charmed  me  with  their  order,  neat 
ness,  and  cultivation.  In  every  instance,  I 
learned,  on  inquiring,  that  the  owners  of  these, 
or  some  members  of  their  families,  were,  or  had 
been,  visitors  at  the  "  Sickle  and  Sheaf ; "  and 
that  the  ruin,  in  progress  or  completed,  began 
after  the  establishment  of  that  point  of  attrac 
tion  in  the  village. 

Something  of  a  morbid  curiosity,  excited  by 


NIGHT   THE   NINTH.  333 

what  I  saw,  led  me  on  to  take  a  closer  view  of 
the  residence  of  Judge  Hammond  than  I  had 
obtained  on  the  day  before.  The  first  thing 
that  I  noticed,  on  approaching  the  old,  decay 
ing  mansion,  were  handbills,  posted  on  the 
gate,  the  front-door,  and  on  one  of  the  windows. 
A  nearer  inspection  revealed  their  import.  The 
property  had  been  seized,  and  was  now  offered 
at  sheriff's  sale  ! 

Ten  years  before,  Judge  Hammond  was 
known  as  the  richest  man  in  Cedarville :  and 
now,  the  homestead  he  had  once  so  loved  to 
beautify — where  all  that  was  dearest  to  him  in 
life  once  gathered — worn,  disfigured,  and  in 
ruins,  was  about  being  wrested  from  him.  I 
paused  at  the  gate,  and  leaning  over  it,  looked 
in  with  saddened  feelings  upon  the  dreary 
waste  within.  No  sign  of  life  was  visible. 
The  door  was  shut — the  windows  closed — not 
the  faintest  wreath  of  smoke  was  seen  above 
the  blackened  chimney-tops.  How  vividly  did 
imagination  restore  the  life,  and  beauty,  and 


334  TEN    NIGHTS    IN    A    BAR-ROOM. 

happiness,  that  made  their  home  there  only  a 
few  years  before, — the  mother  and  her  noble 
boy,  one  looking  with  trembling  hope,  the 
other  with  joyous  confidence,  into  the  future, — 
the  father,  proud  of  his  household  treasures, 
but  not  their  wise  and  jealous  guardian. 

Ah !  that  his  hands  should  have  unbarred 
the  door,  and  thrown  it  wide,  for  the  wolf  to 
enter  that  precious  fold !  I  saw  them  all  in 
their  sunny  life  before  me ;  yet,  even  as  I 
looked  upon  them,  their  sky  began  to  darken. 
I  heard  the  distant  mutterings  of  the  storm, 
and  soon  the  desolating  tempest  swept  down 
fearfully  upon  them.  I  shuddered  as  it  passed 
away,  to  look  upon  the  wrecks  left  scattered 
around.  What  a  change  ! 

"  And  all  this,"  said  I,  "  that  one  man,  tired 
of  being  useful,  and  eager  to  get  gain,  might 
gather  in  accursed  gold  ! " 

Pushing  open  the  gate,  I  entered  the  yard, 
and  walked  around  the  dwelling,  my  foot 
steps  echoing  in  the  hushed  solitude  of  the 


NIGHT   THE   NINTH.  335 

deserted  place.  Hark !  was  that  a  human 
voice  ? 

I  paused  to  listen. 

The  sound  came,  once  more,  distinctly  to  my 
ears.  I  looked  around,  above,  everywhere,  but 
perceived  no  living  sign.  For  nearly  a  minute 
I  stood  still,  listening.  Yes :  there  it  was 
again — a  low,  moaning  voice,  as  of  one  in  pain 
or  grief.  I  stepped  onward  a  few  paces ;  and 
now  saw  one  of  the  doors  standing  ajar.  As  I 
pushed  this  door  wide  open,  the  moan  was 
repeated.  Following  the  direction  from  which 
the  sound  came,  I  entered  one  of  the  large 
drawing-rooms.  The  atmosphere  was  stifling, 
and  all  as  dark  as  if  it  were  midnight.  Groping 
my  way  to  a  window,  I  drew  back  the  bolt  and 
threw  open  a  shutter.  Broadly  the  light  fell 
across  the  dusty,  uncarpeted  floor,  and  on  the 
dingy  furniture  of  the  room.  As  it  did  so,  the 
moaning  voice  which  had  drawn  me  thither 
swelled  on  the  air  again ;  and  now  I  saw,  lying 
upon  an  old  sofa,  the  form  of  a  man.  It  needed 


TEN   NIGHTS    IN    A   BAB-ROOM. 

no  second  glance  to  tell  me  that  this  was  Judge 
Hammond.  I  put  my  hand  upon  him,  and 
uttered  his  name :  but  he  answered  not.  I 
spoke  more  firmly,  and  slightly  shook  him ;  but 
only  a  piteous  moan  was  returned. 

"  Judge  Hammond ! "  I  now  called  aloud, 
and  somewhat  imperatively. 

But  it  availed  nothing.  The  poor  old  man 
aroused  not  from  the  stupor  in  which  mind  and 
body  were  enshrouded. 

"  He  is  dying ! "  thought  I ;  and  instantly 
left  the  house  in  search  of  some  friends  to  take 
charge  of  him  in  his  last,  sad  extremity.  The 
first  person  to  whom  I  made  known  the  fact 
shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  said  it  was  no 
affair  of  his,  and  that  I  must  find  somebody 
whose  business  it  was  to  attend  to  him.  My 
next  application  was  met  in  the  same  spirit ; 
and  no  better  success  attended  my  reference  of 
the  matter  to  a  third  party.  No  one  to  whom 
I  spoke  seemed  to  have  any  sympathy  for  the 
broken-down  old  man.  Shocked  by  this  indif- 


NIGHT  THE   NINTH.  337 

ference,  I  went  to  one  of  the  county  officers, 
who,  on  learning  the  condition  of  Judge  Ham 
mond,  took  immediate  steps  to  have  him  re 
moved  to  the  Alms-house,  some  miles  distant. 

"  But  why  to  the  Alms-house  ?'"  I  inquired, 
on  learning  his  purpose.  "  He  has  property." 

"  Every  thing  has  been  seized  for  debt,"  was 
the  reply. 

"  Will  there  be  nothing  left  after  his  credit 
ors  are  satisfied  ? " 

"  Very  few,  if  any,  will  be  satisfied,"  he  an 
swered.  "  There  will  not  be  enough  to  pay 
half  the  judgments  against  him." 

"  And  is  there  no  friend  to  take  him  in, — no 
one,  of  all  who  moved  by  his  side  in  the  days 
of  prosperity,  to  give  a  few  hours'  shelter,  and 
soothe  the  last  moments  of  his  unhappy  life  ? " 

"  Why  did  you  make  application  here  ? "  was 
the  officer's  significant  question. 

I  was  silent. 

"  Your  earnest  appeals  for  the  poor  old  man 
met  with  no  words  of  sympathy  ? " 


338  TEN   NIGHTS    IN    A   BAR-ROOM. 

"None." 

"  He  has,  indeed,  fallen  low.  In  the  days  of 
his  prosperity,  he  had  many  friends,  so  called. 
Adversity  has  shaken  them  all  like  dead  leaves 
from  sapless  branches." 

"  But  why  ?     This  is  not  always  so." 

"Judge  Hammond  was  a  selfish,  worldly 
man.  People  never  liked  him  much.  His 
favoring,  so  strongly,  the  tavern  of  Slade,  and 
his  distillery  operations,  turned  from  him  some 
of  his  best  friends.  The  corruption  and  terri 
ble  fate  of  his  son — and  the  insanity  and  death 
of  his  wife — all  were  charged  upon  him  in 
people's  minds ;  and  every  one  seemed  to  turn 
from  him  instinctively  after  the  fearful  tragedy 
was  completed.  He  never  held  up  his  head 
afterward.  Neighbors  shunned  him  as  they 
would  a  criminal.  And  here  has  come  the  end 
at  last.  He  wilt  be  taken  to  the  Poor-house,  to 
die  there — a  pauper  ! " 

"And  all,"  said  I,  partly  speaking  to  my 
self,  "because  a  man,  too  lazy  to  work  at 


NIGHT   THE   NINTH.  339 

an  honest  calling,  must  needs  go  to  rum-sell- 
ing." 

"The  truth,  the  whole  truth,  and  nothing 
but  the  truth,"  remarked  the  officer  with  em 
phasis,  as  he  turned  from  me  to  see  that  his 
directions  touching  the  removal  of  Mr.  Ham 
mond  to  the  Poor-house  were  promptly  ex 
ecuted. 

In  my  wanderings  about  Cedarville  during 
that  day,  I  noticed  a  small  but  very  neat  cot 
tage,  a  little  way  from  the  centre  of  the  vil 
lage.  There  was  not  around  it  a  great  pro 
fusion  of  flowers  and  shrubbery ;  but  the  few 
vines,  flowers,  and  bushes  that  grew  green  and 
flourishing  about  the  door,  and  along  the  clean 
walks,  added  to  the  air  of  taste  and  comfort 
that  so  peculiarly  marked  the  dwelling. 

"  Who  lives  in  that  pleasant  little  spot  ? "  I 
asked  of  a  man  whom  I  had  frequently  seen  in 
Slade's  bar-room.  He  happened  to  be  passing 
the  house  at  the  same  time  that  I  was. 

"Joe  Morgan,"  was  answered. 

22 


340  TEN   NIGHTS   IN    A   BAR-ROOM. 

"  Indeed  ! "  I  spoke  in  some  surprise.  "  And 
what  of  Morgan  ?  How  is  he  doing  ? " 

"Very  well." 

"Doesn't  he  drink?" 

"No.  Since  the  death  of  his  child,  he  has 
never  taken  a  drop.  That  event  sobered  him, 
and  he  has  remained  sober  ever  since." 

"What  is  he  doing?" 

"  Working  at  his  old  trade." 

"That  of  a  miller?" 

"  Yes.  After  Judge  Hammond  broke  down, 
the  distillery  apparatus  and  cotton  spinning 
machinery  were  all  sold  and  removed  from 
Cedarville.  The  purchaser  of  what  remained, 
having  something  of  the  fear  of  God,  as  well  as 
regard  for  man,  in  his  heart,  set  himself  to  the 
restoration  of  the  old  order  of  things,  and  in 
due  time  the  revolving  mill-wheel  was  at  its 
old  and  better  work  of  grinding  corn  and 
wheat  for  bread.  The  only  two  men  in  Cedar- 
ville  competent  to  take  charge  of  the  mill  were 
Simon  Slade  and  Joe  Morgan.  The  first  could 


WIGHT   THE   NINTH. 

not  be  had,  and  the  second  came  in  as  a  matter 
of  course." 

"  And  he  remains  sober  and  industrious  ? " 

"  As  any  man  in  the  village,"  was  the  an 
swer. 

I  saw  but  little  of  Slade  or  his  son  during 
the  day.  But  both  were  in  the  bar-room  at 
night,  and  both  in  a  condition  sorrowful  to 
look  upon.  Their  presence,  together,  in  the 
bar-room,  half  intoxicated  as  they  were,  seemed 
to  revive  the  unhappy  temper  of  the  previous 
evening,  as  freshly  as  if  the  sun  had  not  risen 
and  set  upon  their  anger. 

During  the  early  part  of  the  evening,  con 
siderable  company  was  present,  though  not  of 
a  very  select  class.  A  large  proportion  were 
young  men.  To  most  of  them  the  fact  that 
Slade  had  fallen  into  the  sheriff's  hands  was 
known  ;  and  I  gathered  from  some  aside  con 
versation  which  reached  my  ears,  that  Frank's 
idle,  spendthrift  habits  had  hastened  the  pres 
ent  crisis  in  his  father's  affairs.  He,  too,  was 


342  TEN   NIGHTS    IN    A   BAR-BOOM. 

in  debt  to  Judge  Lyman — on  what  account,  it 
was  not  hard  to  infer. 

It  was  after  nine  o'clock,  and  there  were  not 
half  a  dozen  persons  in  the  room,  when  I  no 
ticed  Frank  Slade  go  behind  the  bar  for  the 
third  or  fourth  time.  He  was  just  lifting  a 
decanter  of  brandy,  when  his  father,  who  was 
considerably  under  the  influence  of  drink, 
started  forward,  and  laid  his  hand  upon  that  of 
his  son.  Instantly  a  fierce  light  gleamed  from 
the  eyes  of  the  young  man. 

"  Let  go  of  my  hand  ! "  he  exclaimed. 

"  No,  I  won't.  Put  up  that  brandy  bottle — 
you're  drunk  now." 

"  Don't  meddle  with  me,  old  man  ! "  angrily 
retorted  Frank.  "  I'm  not  in  the  mood  to  bear 
any  thing  more  from  your 

"You're  drunk  as  a  fool  now,"  returned 
Slade,  who  had  seized  the  decanter.  "  Let  go 
the  bottle." 

For  only  an  instant  did  the  young  man  hesi 
tate.  Then  he  drove  his  half-clenched  hand 


NIGHT    THE    NINTH.  343 

against  the  breast  of  his  father,  who  went  stag 
gering  away  several  paces  from  the  counter. 
Recovering  himself,  and  now  almost  furious, 
the  landlord  rushed  forward  upon  his  son,  his 
hand  raised  to  strike  him. 

"Keep  off!"  cried  Frank.  "Keep  off!  If 
you  touch  me,  I'll  strike  you  down  ! "  At  the 
same  time  raising  the  half-filled  bottle  threat 
eningly. 

But  his  father  was  in  too  maddened  a  state 
to  fear  any  consequences,  and  so  pressed  for 
ward  upon  his  son,  striking  him  in  the  face  the 
moment  he  came  near  enough  to  do  so. 

Instantly,  the  young  man,  infuriated  by  drink 
and  evil  passions,  threw  the  bottle  at  his  father's 
head.  The  dangerous  missile  fell,  crashing 
upon  one  of  his  temples,  shivering  it  into  a 
hundred  pieces.  A  heavy,  jarring  fall  too 
surely  marked  the  fearful  consequences  of  the 
blow.  When  we  gathered  around  the  fallen 
man,  and  made  an  effort  to  lift  him  from  the 
floor,  a  thrill  of  horror  w^ent  through  every 


344  TEN    NIGHTS    IN   A   BAR-ROOM. 

heart.  A  mortal  paleness  was  already  on  his 
marred  face,  and  the  death-gurgle  in  his  throat ! 
In  three  minutes  from  the  time  the  blow  was 
struck,  his  spirit  had  gone  upward  to  give  an 
account  of  the  deeds  done  in  the  body. 

"  Frank  Slade !  you  have  murdered  your 
father ! " 

Sternly  were  these  terrible  words  uttered. 
It  was  some  time  before  the  young  man  seemed 
to  comprehend  their  meaning.  But  the  mo 
ment  he  realized  the  awful  truth,  he  uttered  an 
exclamation  of  horror.  Almost  at  the  same 
instant,  a  pistol-shot  came  sharply  on  the  ear. 
But  the  meditated  self-destruction  was  not  ac 
complished.  The  aim  was  not  surely  taken; 
and  the  ball  struck  harmlessly  against  the 
ceiling. 

Half  an  hour  afterward,  and  Frank  Slade 
was  a  lonely  prisoner  in  the  county  jail ! 

Does  the  reader  need  a  word  of  comment  on 
this  fearful  consummation  ?  No  :  and  we  will 
offer  none. 


FRANK  SLADE!    You  HAVE  MUBDEBED  YOUR  FATHER!" 


NIGHT   THE   TENTH.  345 


NIGHT    THE    TENTH. 

THE  CLOSING  SCENE  AT  THE  "  SICKLE  AND  SHEAF." 

f  \  N  the  day  that  succeeded  the  evening  of 
this  fearful  tragedy,  placards  were  to  be 
seen  all  over  the  village,  announcing  a  mass 
meeting  at  the  "  Sickle  and  Sheaf  "  that  night. 
By  early  twilight,  the  people  commenced 
assembling.  The  bar,  which  had  been  closed 
all  day,  was  now  thrown  open,  and  lighted; 
and  in  this  room,  where  so  much  of  evil  had 
been  originated,  encouraged,  and  consummated, 
a  crowd  of  earnest-looking  men  were  soon 
gathered.  Among  them  I  saw  the  fine  person 
of  Mr.  Hargrove.  Joe  Morgan — or  rather,  Mr. 
Morgan-1- was  also  of  the  number.  The  latter 
I  would  scarcely  have  recognized,  had  not 
some  one  near  me  called  him  by  name.  He 
was  well  dressed,  stood  erect,  and  though  there 


346  TEN    NIGHTS    IN    A    BAR-ROOM. 

were  many  deep  lines  on  his  thoughtful  coun 
tenance,  all  traces  of  his  former  habits  were 
gone.  While  I  was  observing  him,  he  arose, 
and  addressing  a  few  words  to  the  assemblage, 
nominated  Mr.  Hargrove  as  chairman  of  the 
meeting.  To  this  a  unanimous  assent  was 
given. 

On  taking  the  chair,  Mr.  Hargrove  rnad^  a 
brief  address,  something  to  this  effect. 

"Ten  years  ago,"  said  he,  his  voice  evincirg 
a  slight  unsteadiness  as  he  began,  but  growing 
firmer  as  he  proceeded,  "  there  was  not  a  hap 
pier  spot  in  Bolton  county  than  Cedarville. 
Now,  the  marks  of  ruin  are  everywhere.  Ten 
years  ago,  there  was  a  kind-hearted,  industrious 
miller  in  Cedarville,  liked  by  every  one,  and  as 
harmless  as  a  little  child.  Now,  his  bloated, 
disfigured  body  lies  in  that  room.  His  death 
was  violent,  and  by  the  hand  of  his  own 
son ! " 

Mr.  Hargrove's  words  fell  slowly,  distinctly, 
and  marked  by  the  most  forcible  emphasis. 


NIGHT   THE   TENTH.  347 

There  was  scarcely  one  present  who  did  not 
feel  a  low  shudder  run  along  his  nerves,  as  the 
last  words  were  spoken  in  a  husky  whisper. 

"Ten  years  ago,"  he  proceeded,  "the  miller 
had  a  happy  wife,  and  two  innocent,  glad- 
hearted  children.  Now,  his  wife,  bereft  of 
reason,  is  in  a  mad-house,  and  his  son  the  occu 
pant  of  a  felon's  cell,  charged  with  the  awful 
crime  of  parricide !  " 

Briefly  he  paused,  while  his  audience  stood 
gazing  upon  him  with  half-suspended  respira 
tion. 

"  Ten  years  ago,"  he  went  on,  "  Judge  Ham 
mond  was  accounted  the  richest  man  in  Cedar- 
ville.  Yesterday  he  was  carried,  a  friendless 
pauper,  to  the  Alms-house ;  and  to-day  he  is 
the  unmourned  occupant  of  a  pauper's  grave ! 
Ten  years  ago,  his  wife  was  the  proud,  hope 
ful,  loving  mother  of  a  most  promising  son.  I 
need  not  describe  what  Willy  Hammond  was. 
All  here  knew  him  well.  Ah  !  what  shattered 
the  fine  intellect  of  that  noble-minded  woman  2 


348  TEN   NIGHTS   IN    A   BA3-SOOM. 

Why  did  her  heart  break?  Where  is  she? 
Where  is  Willy  Hammond  ? " 

A  low,  half-repressed  groan  answered  the 
speaker. 

"  Ten  years  ago,  you,  sir,"  pointing  to  a  sad- 
looking  old  man,  and  calling  him  by  name, 
"had  two  sons — generous,  promising,  manly- 
hearted  boys.  What  are  they  now  ?  You 
need  not  answer  the  question.  Too  well  is 
their  history  and  your  sorrow  known.  Ten 
years  ago,  I  had  a  son, — amiable,  kind,  loving, 
but  weak.  Heaven  knows  how  I  sought  to 
guard  and  protect  him !  But  he  fell  also. 
The  arrows  of  destruction  darkened  the  very 
air  of  our  once  secure  and  happy  village.  And 
who  was  safe  ?  Not  mine,  nor  yours  ! 

"  Shall  I  go  on  ?  Shall  I  call  up  and  pass  in 
review  before  you,  one  after  another,  all  the 
wretched  victims  who  have  fallen  in  Cedarville 
during  the  last  ten  years  ?  Time  does  not  per 
mit.  It  would  take  hours  for  the  enumeration  ! 
No;  I  will  not  throw  additional  darkness  into 


NIGHT   THE   TENTH.  349 

the  picture.  Heaven  knows  it  is  black  enough 
already !  But  what  is  the  root  of  this  great 
evil?  Where  lies  the  fearful  secret?  Who 
understands  the  disease  ?  A  direful  pestilence 
is  in  the  air — it  walketh  in  darkness,  and 
wasteth  at  noonday.  It  is  slaying  the  first-born 
in  our  houses,  and  the  cry  of  anguish  is  swell 
ing  on  every  gale.  Is  there  no  remedy  ? " 

"  Yes  !  yes  !  There  is  a  remedy  ! "  was  the 
spontaneous  answer  from  many  voices. 

"  Be  it  our  task,  then,  to  find  and  apply  it 
this  night,"  answered  the  chairman,  as  he  took 
his  seat. 

"  And  there  is  but  one  remedy,"  said  Morgan, 
as  Mr.  Hargrove  sat  down.  "The  accursed 
traffic  must  cease  among  us.  You  must  cut  off 
the  fountain,  if  you  would  dry  up  the  stream. 
If  you  would  save  the  young,  the  weak,  and 
the  innocent — on  you  God  has  laid  the  solemn 
duty  of  their  protection — you  must  cover  them 
from  the  tempter.  Evil  is  strong,  wily,  fierce, 
and  active  in  the  pursuit  of  its  ends.  The 


350  TEN    NIGHTS    IN    A    BAR-KOOM. 

young,  the  weak,  and  the  innocent  can  no  more 
resist  its  assaults,  than  the  lamb  can  resist  the 
wolf.  They  are  helpless,  if  you  abandon  them 
to  the  powers  of  evil.  Men  and  brethren !  as 
one  who  has  himself  been  well-nigh  lost — as 
one  who,  daily,  feels  and  trembles  at  the  dan 
gers  that  beset  his  path — I  do  conjure  you  to 
stay  the  fiery  stream  that  is  bearing  every  thing 
good  and  beautiful  among  you  to  destruction. 
Fathers !  for  the  sake  of  your  young  children, 
be  up  now  and  doing.  Think  of  Willy  Ham 
mond,  Prank  Slade,  and  a  dozen  more  whose 
names  I  could  repeat,  and  hesitate  no  longer ! 
Let  us  resolve,  this  night,  that  from  henceforth 
the  traffic  shall  cease  in  Cedarville.  Is  there 
not  a  large  majority  of  citizens  in  favor  of  such 
a  measure  ?  And  whose  rights  or  interests  can 
be  affected  by  such  a  restriction  ?  Who,  in 
fact,  has  any  right  to  sow  disease  and  death  in 
our  community?  The  liberty,  under  suffer 
ance,  to  do  so,  wrongs  the  individual  who  uses 
it,  as  well  as  those  who  become  his  victims. 


NIGHT   THE   TENTH.  351 

Do  you  want  proof  of  this?  Look  at  Simon 
Slade,  the  happy,  kind-hearted  miller;  and  at 
Simon  Slade,  the  tavern-keeper.  Was  he  ben 
efited  by  the  liberty  to  work  harm  to  his 
neighbor  ?  No  !  no  !  In  heaven's  name,  then, 
let  the  traffic  cease  !  To  this  end,  I  offer  these 
resolutions  :— 

"  Be  it  resolved  by  the  inhabitants  of  Cedar- 
ville,  That  from  this  day  henceforth,  no  more 
intoxicating  drink  shall  be  sold  within  the 
limits  of  the  corporation. 

"Resolved,  further,  That  all  the  liquors  in 
the  '  Sickle  and  Sheaf  be  forthwith  destroyed, 
and  that  a  fund  be  raised  to  pay  the  creditors 
of  Simon  Slade  therefor,  should  they  demand 
compensation. 

"Resolved,  That  in  closing  up  all  other 
places  where  liquor  is  sold,  regard  shall  be  ha<. 
to  the  right  of  property  which  the  law  secures 
to  every  man. 

"Resolved,  That  with  the  consent  of  the 
legal  authorities,  all  the  liquor  for  sale  in  Cedar- 


352  TEN  NIGHTS   IN   A  BAB-ROOM. 

ville  be  destroyed,  provided  the  owners  thereof 
be  paid  its  full  value  out  of  a  fund  specially 
raised  for  that  purpose." 

But  for  the  calm  yet  resolute  opposition  of 
one  or  two  men,  these  resolutions  would  have 
passed  by  acclamation.  A  little  sober  argu 
ment  showed  the  excited  company  that  no 
good  end  is  ever  secured  by  the  adoption  of 
wrrong  means. 

There  were,  in  Cedarville,  regularly  consti 
tuted  authorities,  which  alone  had  the  power 
to  determine  public  measures,  or  to  say  what 
business  might  or  might  not  be  pursued  by  in 
dividuals.  And  through  these  authorities  they 
must  act  in  an  orderly  way. 

There  was  some  little  chafing  at  this  view  of 
the  case.  But  good  sense  and  reason  prevailed. 
Somewhat  modified,  the  resolutions  passed,  and 
the  more  ultra-inclined  contented  themselves 
with  carrying  out  the  second  resolution,  to 
destroy  forthwith  all  the  liquor  to  be  found  on 
the  premises;  which  was  immediately  done. 


NIGHT  THE   TENTH.  353 

After  which  the  people  dispersed  to  their 
homes,  each  with  a  lighter  heart,  and  better 
hopes  for  the  future  of  their  village. 

On  the  next  day,  as  I  entered  the  stage  that 
was  to  bear  me  from  Cedarville,  I  saw  a  man 
strike  his  sharp  axe  into  the  worn,  faded.  *nd 
leaning  post  that  had,  for  so  many  years,  borne 
aloft  the  "  Sickle  and  Sheaf ; "  and,  just  as  the 
driver  gave  word  to  his  horses,  the  false  em 
blem  which  had  invited  so  many  to  enter  the 
way  of  destruction,  fell  crashing  to  the  earth. 


THE   END. 


29  2492 


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